


Sinister

by ModestlyHomo



Category: Larry - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, lourry - Fandom
Genre: Dark, Harry Styles - Freeform, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Mystery, Psychological Drama, Psychology, Rape, Schizophrenia, Smut, Therapy, Tumblr, harry - Freeform, homocide, larry stylinson - Freeform, louis - Freeform, modestlyhomo, sinister - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:33:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 54,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModestlyHomo/pseuds/ModestlyHomo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson, head psychiatrist of Violet Quarters Mental Rehabilitation Center is faced with the most difficult case of mental instability his career has ever given him. In a mirage of rape, and seven gruesome murders, Harry Styles’; with his dangerously wicked smile, can still manipulate even his strongest contenders. Yet the accused killer has a past that not even Harry himself can remember correctly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Violet Quarters was one of of the biggest mental rehab center’s in London, housing some of the most insane psychopathic murderers, nursing them back to sanity- all at the hands of the head doctor- Louis Tomlinson. He was only a mere 26, and held some certain knack, some certain thing that his patients clung to.

It was February 11th when they brought in one of their most notorious patients yet. The night was clad like an oil slick upon the pristine and polished medical campus. A thick snowfall held onto gutters and roads like a death sentence, and his breath hung on the air like a white ghost in front of his mouth. 

Surrounded by 5 officers, he was escorted into the large glass front doors to Violet Quarters, his eyes downcast with a small snide smile on his plump lips. Everyone looked up at the boy, only 17, sauntering through the lobby. 

He was accused of the rape and grotesque murder of seven people, ranging from young boys, to middle-aged women. Although there was limited evidence and limited suspects, they charged him with those counts, but being redirected from the death penalty on plead of insanity. It went through easily- there was something about the boy, so arrogant- so incredibly intelligent and different. His personality was compared to that of Hannibal Lectur. 

He looked up under his long lashes that held a few snowflakes, his glossy, bloodshot eyes were near mocking clad in a mesmerizing emerald. 

People expect murderers and rapists to be heinous looking people, with greasy mops of long hair and pedophilia looking mustaches- and perhaps that was what was so off-putting about him, his beauty. Long and lanky, milky skin and mops of curls- he looked like any teenage girls dream. 

And as he sauntered through the lobby, he ran his tongue along his pearly enamels, winking at the trim little desk clerk, who’s face drained of color and eyes diverted quickly. 

A firm yank of his arm form one of the officers escorting him had him chuckling, “Eyes forward, Styles.”

“I’m in the institution now, what am I gonna do- stare someone to death?” He bitterly spat with a snide cat grin, eyebrows raising. “Plus, you are just throwing me in here because you have no one else to accuse.” 

“We know you did it, now shut the fuck up and be good or you’ll be sitting in the electric chair in no time.” One of the officers spat before shoving him into his room, where he stumbled in and had the door heavily shut behind him with the dreadful noise of the deadbolt snapping closed. 

The room was quiet- achingly quiet, and cold. The walls were a dull grey, with a large, iron grated window out looking rolling, white hills. A narrow, stark white bed sat in the corner- the sheets were stiff and itchy. But with all of this change, he just sighed, going to lean his forehead against the window to watch a bird hop from icy gutter to icy gutter. 

—-

“Harry Styles.” A tall redheaded woman tutted with an affectionate smile on her face as she propped open his room door, the boy’s sullen eyes turned to her and a big grin tugged up his dimples. She glanced down at the clipboard in her hands, shifting so that the door rested open on her hip. 

“Time for your first meeting with Dr. Tomlinson.” She waved him to follow her, and he nodded, clambering up swiftly from his bed and plodding after her. The low draping white t-shirt and sweatpants he was given to wear hung loosely on his bird-boned body, and he found himself constantly pulling up his pants. 

The halls were narrow and lined with doors just as his, and one sharp right turn brought them into a much wider hall with marble floors and elevators, cushy looking chairs and couches, and one big, black grand piano in the center. 

“Excited?” The woman inquired over her shoulder, sliding a card through a reader by the end elevator. 

“Ecstatic.” Harry drawled out, piquing a brow with a bemused sigh as the elevator doors swung open and they stepped in. “Not going to cuff me?” He asked, waving his free wrists in front of her face. She just gave him a long look, rolling her eyes, before pressing the floor number 4 and it began to rise. 

When presented to the large metal doors to what Harry assumed was Dr. Tomlinson’s office, the woman turned to him, nodding her head once before opening the door for him and waving him in. 

This room was drastically different to the rest of Violet Quarters; it was spacious and warm, walls a deep chocolate and furnished with one leather love seat and one leather recliner. Harry’s eyes scanned the room for whatever therapist was going to assess him and ‘aid him to mental health’. The thought made Harry blow out a long sigh and roll his eyes. 

He stood there for exactly one minute and 12 seconds when a voice came from the silence, “Have a seat over there.” Harry turned his head in the direction it came from and sure enough there stood a petite man with efficiently styled hair, golden skin, arched brows, and clad in white chinos was a delicious looking ass and thighs. 

Harry didn’t feign from letting his eyes drift the man head to toe, before pursing his lips and sitting on the leather couch. The man sniffed, before shifting the blue mug in his hand and striding to sit in his very worn recliner. His eyes also unabashedly traveled Harry’s body- nothing lustful- just assessment Harry assumed.

“Did Wendy escort you to your liking?” He questioned, shifting in his seat, making the leather groan. 

Harry threw his head back with a suppressed laugh as he also assumed Wendy was the redhead. “What? Compared to ass hole cops, sure.” 

The doctor didn’t bat an eye, “Good, good. Well,” he sighed, leaning forward and tapping his finger on the rim of his mug, “I am Dr. Tomlinson. Mind starting this session off for me with telling me your name and why you think you are here?” 

Harry let out a little keen, “Well, Louis, I’m sure you already know my name so why waste time on that?” He piqued his brows as the man shifted again in his seat at the usage of his first name. “And I’ll tell you why I’m here- I’m here because,” he inhaled deeply with a wicked smile as he leaned forward in his chair, massive hands resting on his knees, “because the world believes I’m some sick child molester and murderer.”

He leaned back, pressing a long index finger to his lips, “And let me tell you, those are false pretenses, Louis. I’m much more than that.” He grinned, looking at him through suggestively gleaming eyes. 

“Oh?” Louis inquired, raising his mug to his lips to take a small sip. “Do tell, Harry.”

“You see it started out when I was about 13.” Harry ran a hand through his curls, sighing. “It started when I was bored, very very bored. So I took the kitchen cleaving knife and walked around the neighborhood. I killed our neighbor’s cat- and you see, I didn’t know why I did it at first- I just knew it felt good.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, “I knew it felt good like it does when you’re wanking and you come real hard. To see something I slaughtered laying before me- that’s a sign of a psychopath.”

He studied the way Louis again shifted uncomfortably in his seat, watching the way his adam’s apple bobbed- but his eyes did not show fear. Harry grinned at that. “So after that I kept it up, kept killing random animals, harvesting their flesh and skin and then I grew bored.”

He tutted, tapping his finger on his lips as he shook his head, pausing just to stare straight at the man, who held his gaze just as easily. “So I moved onto children.” He smiled simply, studying his nail beds. “Little boys, really. I liked how innocent they were.” Harry internally wondered if Louis was going to stop him, but to no surprise, he didn’t. “So I.. bought some rope.. drove down to Winchester and found a boy on a playground, coaxed him to follow me to the woods, tied him up and raped him.” He sniffed, blinking.

“Raped him then slaughtered him with no mercy- as I did the cats and dogs before him.” He laughed as though he was telling some cheesy joke, and it only furthered when he saw the color drain from Louis’ face. “Then I got bored with the innocence and took on their whore mothers.” Harry leaned forward, studying Louis’ prominent cheek bones and pretty lips, pretty cerulean eyes which were averted. When the room grew sufficiently quiet, Harry burst into loud, tremulous laughter.

“You believed it, didn’t you?” He wheezed, running his hands through his hair, “That whole shit storm of a story was a lie you prick.” Louis gripped his mug tighter, his brows knitting together. 

“Harry, to reach mental stability, you have to stop with the story telling- if that’s what it is.” He spat. 

“You’re pretty, y’know that Lou?” Harry smiled, running his finger along his bottom lip as he again studied his features. His cheeks alighted in a flame of pink and he diverted his eyes, clearing his throat. 

“That has nothing to do with the task, Harry. Now tell me, what makes you so innocent?” Louis still couldn’t look him in the eye anymore, “What makes me want to believe that you in fact didn’t do everything you just told me?” 

The boy simply stared at him with a little smile on his lips that brought out his dimples, a very innocent looking boy. A few moments passed, and Louis grew increasingly uncomfortable. “How old are you, Louis?” 

The man squirmed underneath his gaze now, finally looking at him dead in the face, “That doesn’t matter- Harr- now listen to me..”

“25-26?” Harry inquired, cocking his head. “26 I bet.. I also bet you like cock.” He grinned with a harsh laugh that had Louis standing up from his chair with a bewildered look on his face. 

“I think we’re going to have to re-schedule your session for another day.” He chanted quickly, pointing at the door and striding to his phone, rapidly keying out numbers and saying something quickly into the receiver Harry just watched him with an idyllic smile. 

“Fine with me, Lou.” Harry sighed, standing up, which had the man flinching. 

“Don’t call me that, address me as Dr. Tomlinson, Harry.” He bleated, tapping his fingers nervously on the back of his chair. 

“Are you nervous?” Harry laughed as he sauntered across the floor to the man who was cowering back, the tendons in his neck tensed and eyes diverted. Harry walked up to him and until he was flush against him, his lips ghosting along the shell of his ear. 

“No, Harry. Please stop or I’ll have to call security.” He murmured out sheepishly, pressing the heel of his palm into the boy’s chest to push him away. 

“Why are you so afraid? I didn’t rape or kill those people..” He purred, running his fingers up the man’s biceps. 

“I’m finding that hard to believe.” Louis muttered, pushing him further away. Harry blew out of his nose, rolling his eyes with a lilting grin. 

“Okay, Lou. I’ll convince you sooner or later.” He tutted, before backing away to turn and be greeted by the door opening and Wendy looking at him with a discriminatory look. 

“What?” He flailed out his arms with a wicked grin, and she just rolled her eyes. 

“Come on, trouble.” She laughed, guiding him out into the hall, where he looked over his shoulder to see Louis leaning against his chair, staring at the floor. 

—-

Louis was hunched in his office’s restroom, leaning against the cool tile as his hand worked his length sloppily, his head lolled forward as his breath heaved out in little pants. He needed the release, he didn’t know why, but it was persistent. 

He could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, and he searched for something to pull him over the edge, letting his mind search idly to turn him on. 

Involuntarily, he thought of Harry, and his wicked smile and arrogant aura, and his stomach flipped. His eyes squinted shut hard as he tried to leech those thoughts out and replace them with something else, but it kept slipping back, his hand movements becoming erratic and sloppy.

Harry with his plump lips attached to his neck and pounding into him, the slap of skin on skin, guttural moans and hands in his hair. 

Louis’ mouth flew open with a sliding moan as he came so hard his knee’s trembled and threatened to buckle beneath him. His chest heaved and he just leaned against the wall, before the reality of what he just did slapped him in the face and he buckled to his knees and began to sob. 

—-

Louis was one of the most respected of his kind, and he was used to nursing and aiding broken minds, but he had never come into contact with someone as cunning and intelligent as Harry in the 4 years he worked at Violet Quarters. 

That was one of the reasons he was so hesitant to reschedule his session, and made it as far as he could afford without being chastised by his boss severely. 

So it was a week before he saw him again, and when he did, he had to mentally prepare himself- the irony almost staggering. 

Harry walked into his office, wearing the same thing he had been last week. Louis stood at the very back of his office, watching him closely. The boy waved at him with another wicked smile on his face as he sank into the couch. 

“Miss me?” He teased, with no reply from Louis, who just slowly made his way to his chair. 

“Since you’re so… advanced, Harry. I’m going to have to take a different approach at the very.. apparent problem you have.” Louis sighed, tapping idly on his knee, before piquing a brow and looking at the boy, who crossed his legs properly. 

An expectant silence filled the room, “Well… take a stab.” Harry grinned, tilting his head. 

“We have to start at the stem of the problem, where it all started. Whether or not you murdered and raped those people, you obviously have some things dug deep inside of you.” Louis chose his words carefully, staring at the rug when he was finished.

Harry just blinked, sighing again. “Okay?” 

Louis looked up at him, expecting some out of context question or sexual facade, but nothing came and he shifted, looking down at the clipboard in his hands. 

“Can you tell me about your childhood, Harry?” He looked up over the brim of his glasses expectantly, studying how he blinked several times before licking and dragging his teeth along his bottom lip. “And please sustain from story-telling, the faster you tell the truth, the faster you’re out of here.” 

Harry just laughed, re-crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly in his lap. “Well, Lou.. where to start, where to start.” He sniffed, snapping his teeth together , “My dad was a dick. Nearly every night I could hear him raping my mom. Then he left when I was about 10.. My mom was pretty fucked up after that, became an alcoholic, occasionally beat me when she too haggard to tell what the hell she was doing.”

Harry’s facial expression changed, his eyes were lowered and muscles tense. Louis could tell he was telling the truth. “Did that transfer into violence, did those experiences make you angry, Harry?” 

He looked up from the floor with an awed look, a broken smile parting his lips, “To fucking hell they did. Wouldn’t it make you angry?” He sniffled, rubbing his nose with the hem of his shirt, exposing his bare torso underneath, hosting not just a toned and flat stomach, but several bruises and scars. 

“What did you do when you were angry?” Louis inquired tentatively, feeling a pang of sympathy in the pit of his stomach. 

Harry grew quiet for a moment, staring at his hands that had several puckered scars on their knuckles. “Punched holes in my wall, cut myself until I made sure I could feel still.” He rubbed his hands together, sighing. “You see, those experiences merely numbed me, made me into some inhuman thing.”

He looked over at the large window in the corner of the room, watching the snow blister by. It was achingly quiet again, and bloated moments passed before he spoke again. “I would get so angry, I’d just auto-erase my memory of anything bad I did.” He smiled through his burning eyes, before he looked over at Louis, and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. 

“So I guess I don’t know what I’ve done, really…” He blinked once, and in that moment, he was back- old Harry, wicked, cunning and arrogant. He grinned toothily and leaned back into the couch. 

“Well, Harry…” Louis croaked out, clearing his throat, “You’ve gone through some shit. It’s going to take a bit of effort to get you stable again, and to figure out the things you’ve done in your haze of anger.” He smiled sullenly, pushing his glasses up the brim of his nose. 

Harry didn’t affirm this, just stared at him, that wicked smile still on his lips- dimples and all. “When did you lose your virginity, Louis?” 

The man gulped, his chest up breaking out in scarlet, and he again cleared his throat. “Harry.” He warned.

“Bet it was to a cock, too.” He laughed hoarsely.

“Harry, stop that immediately.” Louis sheepishly cawed, dropping his hands in his lap. 

A pregnant pause again filled the silence, “I bet you wanked to the thought of me.” Harry grinned, his eyes alighting with certainty as Louis’ breath hitched and he looked at the floor. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Harry.” He croaked, pointing at the door, “Leave.” 

—-

It was the same day that Harry couldn’t take it any longer, and the idea hatched rather easily and the plan was set. During their ‘commons’ time, where they were brought down to the commons area to waist their time together- all of the mental patients. 

Harry sat in the back of the room, playing Chess with himself when he glanced up under his lashes at Wendy, who strode over to loom over the boy. 

“Hey, bud.” She smiled at him, and in all honesty, Harry had grown fond of the woman- she was the only person in this hell hole that seemed genuine. 

He tilted his head to make note of her presence, and she patted the top of his head, before turning on her heel and beginning to walk away. 

And just like that, Harry reached out and snatched the ID card from her belt and hid it between his thighs. She walked away, perfectly unfazed and oblivious. 

Harry wasn’t ignorant, and knew he would never make it out of here with her key-card, the front doors were guarded and the halls lined with cameras. But he did no one other thing he could use it for. 

It was 8 pm, and the bell chimed in signal for everyone to head back to their rooms for the night. So Harry got up, and sauntered down the hall, but walked past his room, heading further down the hall until he hung a right into the wide, marble hall.

The hall was only lit by one light at the end of it, and the end elevator’s key card blinked as though waving him on. He walked to it, sliding the ID card through it, followed by the doors swinging open with an inviting little ding. 

When he reached his floor, he did not hesitate to saunter out and unabashedly open his door. The room was dark, besides an actual candle lit on Louis’ desk. Harry paused, scanning the room, wondering if he had already left for the night. 

But that thought was interrupted, “Harry?” His voice literally squeaked out as he emerged from the restroom, his eyes widely glinting in the light of the flame.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” He could hear the fear in his voice, and a wicked smile turned up his lips. 

“Decided to stop in and see you.” He drawled out, resting his massive hand on his hip. 

“H-How?” Louis choked out, backing up to his desk, Harry could literally see him trembling. 

“It’s really not that hard, you guys should probably update that- and you probably will after this…” He sighed heavily, but the smile on his lips not falling. He didn’t move, just stared at the man quaking across the room, “Why are you so afraid of me?” 

“I have valid reason to, Harry.” Louis cleared his throat, and in a sudden sound of air whooshing, the candle was blown out and the whole room grew to a oily pitch black. 

“I’m not afraid of the dark, Lou.” Harry chuckled, walking across the floor carefully, waiting for his eyes to adjust. No answer. 

“I’ll tell you something, Louis..” He couldn’t help his voice breaking into little giggles, “I really did do all of those horrible things that I was found guilty of. I really did rape and murder those people.” He paused in the middle of the room, waiting for him to say something. 

“I need help, Louis.” He made his voice sound like a little child, before a loud grunt left his lips as something slammed onto the back of his head and he fell to the ground with a thud. 

“Ouch, babe.” He laughed, rubbing the back of his head, blinking several times. “You’re going to have to pay for that.” He clambered up, turning around to see the petite man trembling and cowering back, holding a big metal vase. 

“D-Don’t hurt me.” Louis whimpered out, stepping back as Harry stepped forward with a pretty little smile on his lips. 

“I’d never do such a thing, Lou.” He purred, reaching out tentatively to grab a hold of his bicep. “Give that to me.” He tutted quietly, grabbing the vase with ease and setting it on the desk beside him.

“HELP!” Louis suddenly screamed, trying to claw away from him, but a massive hand was clapped over his mouth. 

“Shhh honey, don’t make this more difficult for yourself.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the shell of the man’s ear. Louis murmured something in horror against his palm, and he pulled his hand away, stroking his jaw. “Now be quiet, okay?” He whispered affectionately against his neck, and he rapidly nodded. 

“Why did you kill those kids, Harry?” Louis asked with a trembling voice, crying in terror. 

“I told you..” Harry sighed against his skin, kissing it repeatedly, winding his hands up the man’s back to rest around the back of his neck, “Because I get a rush like I do when I come.” He bit harshly into his skin before shoving him back into the wall, Louis squeaking. 

“You’re a-a monster.” Louis cried out as his shirt was ripped clean open, followed by the clattering sound of his buttons. Harry looked up under his lashes wicked, laughing. 

“That’s not what therapist’s are supposed to say, Louis.” He tutted, wedging his fingers into the waste-band of his boxers and chinos, ripping them down his delicious thighs. 

“Well it’s different when you’re about to be raped.” He spat bitterly into the boy’s face, who just smiled, silencing him with a kiss, which wasn’t nearly as aggressive as the rest of the act, they’re lips melded together, and Harry nibbled on the man’s bottom lip, until he suddenly kissed him back, they’re tongues rolling against one another in a lustful dance. 

Harry pulled back, panting, eyes blown out with lust. “I don’t think it’s rape when you want it.” He pressed another firm kiss to his lips and then traveled down his jaw and neck, sucking so hard into his neck that he drew blood on a few. Louis couldn’t hold back the little moans that dropped from his lips as Harry’s kisses and kitten licks traveled down the plain of his torso and to his achingly hard cock. 

“I’m going to spoil you rotten.” Harry purred, before placing his hands to balance himself on Louis’ helps, engulfing the man’s cock with his plump red lips and warm wet mouth that had Louis’ head fall back against the wall with a little breath. 

Harry sucked, hard, on the head, dipping his tongue into the seam, teasing until little beads of pre-come pulsed into his mouth. He moaned appreciatively around him, which made Louis cry out and find purchase with a grip in the boy’s mop of curls. 

He pulled his mouth off with a pop, breathing heatedly on his wet cock as he smiled up at him, “You taste so good, babe.” He purred, before engulfing him entirely again, sinking down all the way until his nose was pressed again Louis’ soft stomach. 

“Fuck.” Louis cried, having to hold himself back from bucking his hips up into the boy’s face. Harry pulled up, hollowing his cheeks, and sinking back down, repeating this several times, before he began palming himself lazily through his sweatpants.

And in one fluid motion, Harry stood, ripping off his shirt and pants to reveal his heavily scarred and bruised milky body, that Louis stared at with, big wet eyes. 

Harry stood there for a moment, drinking in the sight of Louis’ bare body, loving every little thing about him, his curves and collarbones, so much he couldn’t stand it. So he lunged forward, wrapping those massive hands around his neck, pressing his lips to the shell of his ear as he felt him begin to tremble in horror. He lightly tightened his grip, not enough to choke him quite yet. 

“I bet you came so hard thinking about this exact thing.” He purred, biting harshly on his ear, running one hand fro his neck and down to wrap around his cock and begin to pump it steadily, which leeched a little mewling moan from the man. 

Harry laughed into the shell of his ear, tightening his grip slightly, “You little slut.” He dropped his grip on his neck, and Louis gasped for air, his head buzzing and thighs trembling as Harry aggressively hoisted them both up off of the ground, holding him back against the wall. 

Louis was more or less all the way off the floor, his back flush against the wall, balancing him as Harry held him up with just the brute strength of his arms. Louis looked at him dead in the eyes, his chest heaving. 

“Just do it.” He growled, and Harry wickedly grinned, before quickly releasing one of his thighs to spit into his palm and pump his own cock, pick back up his leg and hoist him up. 

He raised his brows, his white teeth nearly glowing in the dark as he smiled, “Good luck.” He chuckled, before shoving his hips up, entering the man, who let out a pitched scream, his back arching up off of the wall. He felt as though he had been ripped open- although he was no stranger to the feeling. 

Harry groaned, his grip on the man’s thighs tightening as he momentarily allowed him to adjust, before thrusting up harshly, followed by another. Little desperate squeaks left Louis’ open mouth, and he reached out to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck. 

Harry began to thrust hard, his head thrown back in absolute pleasure and lust as the sinful sound skin on skin filled the quiet room along with their ragged breathing. 

“Uh uh uh, nngh Ha-Harry.” Louis cried out in time with his thrusts, sounding like a porn star, which had the boy nearly ravaging him. 

As his cock disappeared again and again into the man, he felt the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, and his brows knitted together, eyes squeezing shut as he pounded upward.

Louis’ moans turned into full blown screams as he angled just right and hit his prostate again, almost turning into agonizing pleasure, his back arching and toes curling as his mouth dropped open with haggard breaths. 

But his breaths were cut off as Harry brought one free hand up to his hand, and efficiently wrapping it around and cutting off his air flow as he continued to thrust up into him. Terror enveloped Louis’ body, but his body reacted in the must pleasurable way to all of this, and he trembled, tears rolling down his cheeks as he stared the boy dead in the eyes. 

Louis’ mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping helplessly out of water, and he came so hard, white ropes falling from his cock and painting his stomach white, air-depraved screams raking up his throat as his back arched in a desperate attempt to dismount himself from the over-sensitive sensations spiking between his thighs. 

He could feel his vision tunneling and all the blood rushing to his head as he stared into Harry’s eyes still, pleading in horror. He was going to die, Harry was going to do what he did 7 times before. 

Harry was so close, his hips jerking up erratically, grip tightening on the man’s throat. “Tell me you love me.” He growled out between gritted teeth. 

Louis’ eyes widened as the tears over flowed, his mouth gaping open for breath. “I-I could n-never.. love a monster l-like you.” He gargled out, his face beat red. 

And just like that Harry came with a guttural moan and his head lolled forward defeatedly thrusting balls-deep as he came deep into the man, and his hand fell away from his throat. 

Louis gasped for air, his head reeling and buzzing as Harry released his legs and he dropped to the floor as he continually gasped for air. 

Harry looked down at him, his eyes glassy with pooling tears, his lips trembling. “I can’t fucking do it.” He whispered down at him, and Louis glanced up at him, touching his neck in disbelief. Why had Harry spared him? 

Louis was too wrecked to say anything, his body trembling from the aftershock of being strangled and coming the hardest he ever had in his life. 

“I-I’m so sorry, Louis.” He sobbed suddenly, dropping to his knees, crawling to him, running his trembling hands over his cheeks. Louis pushed him away, feeling tears well in his eyes. 

“Harry.” He cried, squeezing his eyes shut, it taking all of him not to reach up and stroke the tears running down his cheeks away. He lost the battle and did, and Harry grabbed his hand, holding it against his face as he sobbed brokenly. 

Somewhere in the mix of things, Harry pulled on his sweatpants again and returned to Louis on the floor, stroking his neck, leaning down to kiss the red finger marks and dark bruises running across it. 

“Stop right there, Styles! Put your hands above your head!” Someone yelled behind him, and he didn’t turn to look, just sobbed even harder. 

“Fuck, he got another one!” Another officer yelled, and he heard loud foot steps echoing behind him. He clasped onto Louis, who just stared at him, silently crying. 

They ripped his arms behind his back and quickly cuffed him, hauling him off the ground and tearing him back. 

“Lou-LOUIS!” He screamed, flailing wildly against the constraints, kicking out and arching his back with a agonizing wail. “Louis! I-I’m so sorry- LOUIS!” He screamed again, as they hauled him out the door, a screaming, crying wreck. 

Louis huddled against the wall, covering his face as he sobbed into his palms. “I’m so sorry Harry.” He murmured wetly into his hands.

That was the last time he ever saw Harry. 

Or so he thought.


	2. Part Two

Louis Tomlinson strolled into his office, clutching a hand full of mail and his favorite blue mug filled with his Yorkshire tea. He rounded his desk to perch on the edge as he raised his mug and sipped tentatively at the hot liquid as he leafed through the countless Psychology 101 and Clear Mind magazines he had received. 

He stifled a groan as he threw 2 new bills- one for his car, one for his phone- onto his desk and continued rifling. He hummed idly to pass the quiet moments, which quietly fused out when his thumb rested on a stark white letter addressed to him from someone he had long forced himself to forget.

Violet Quarters changed drastically after the incident. 

Key cards became DNA scanners, knob locks became bolt locks, and 2 hour commons time became 1 hour. 

And now, Louis’ office was lined with security camera’s and a hand gun hidden in a small drawer under his desk. 

It had been 2 years since Harry Styles had resided at Violet Quarters, and ‘raped’ his doctor, and ‘threatened to kill him’. 

The whole night was a painful blur that occasionally rose to Louis’ conscious mind and tortured him; Harry’s pitiful and horrified screams ringing in his ears. He often cried before he realized exactly why, and when he realized, he’d sob even harder.

Louis purposefully removed Harry from his life for fear of what may happen if he didn’t. He had caught wind that he had been sent to prison, but also heard rumor- that was kept hush- that he was transferred to Kedron Valley; the most iron clad mental institution in the UK. But he never looked any further than the quiet whispers he had heard these rumors from to validate them, and stayed sober from the murderer he felt who had left his mark on him.

He could feel his blood pressure rise as his eyes grew out of focus. He reminded himself to breathe after he felt his lungs going taught and screaming for air, and he felt his head go light.

He read over the return address until the words became a black smudge in his sight.

Harry Styles

Kedron Valley Mental Rehabilitation Center

Hackney

London

E15 6PP 

United Kingdom

 

His breath hitched in his throat as he idly wondered if someone was just playing a sick joke on him, and considered just putting the thing to flame and forget about it. 

But the longer he stared at it, and let his gaze slip to the addressee, his heart jumped into his throat. 

Written in mockingly perfect cursive was not just his name, but;

Lou Tomlinson

 

Louis instantly felt 2 years of effort to stay sober come crumbling down in two words, and he stood up from his desk, his hands trembling. He paced back and forth from his desk to the window, window to the desk, repeat. 

He took a big gulp from his blue mug, the tea burning his tongue and throat, making his eyes water. He glanced around the room, his eyes of course happening to fall on the wall Harry had slammed him up against.

A whimper broke his lips and he tore his gaze away, and the most horrifying part of it all was he felt his pants grow slightly tighter. His cheeks bloomed into a deep shade of scarlet as the self-shame came to slap him in the face.

He dug his teeth into his bottom lip to try and smother down whatever his body was trying to betray him in to. 

So to get his mind off of one shit storm to the next, he grabbed the letter and carefully tore it open. 

He paused before reaching to gather the innards, and wondered exactly how Harry had managed to send a letter to him, but he pushed that thought away as he very hesitantly pulled the paper from the envelope. 

The paper itself was very stiff and white, smelling of rank chemicals, and as he unfolded it, the smell only grew more pungent. 

He took one seemingly bottomless breath, and began reading. 

Dear Lou,

Miss me yet? 

I know you do. 

(only nine words in and he held a trembling hand over his mouth to stifle the horrified little noises scraping up his throat)

Well, now that you know where I am- at this shit hole of a sterilized jew camp- I assume a lot of questions are running through your head right now. 

You see, it’s been two years since all of that happened, Louis. I’m sure you relive that night every time you slide your hand into your pants to wank. I know I do; your desperate little noises of approval- I know it was approval- and your delicious thighs that trembled when you came. 

Two.. long.. years, and no one knows that I’m as guilty as a dog for the things I told you that night- just you Louis. Only you really know the truth.

When I first arrived at Kedron, anywhere I went I was in a straight jacket- I even had to piss in one, Louis! 

I finally graduated from the straight jacket after a year to hand-cuffs, and now, I roam the halls at my own will during the commons time. 

Anyways, I’m sending this letter to let you know that here at Kedron Valley, I have progressed beyond their hopes and are planning my release in one month. They say I’m their greatest achievement in returning a patient to mental stability.

One month, Louis. 

Of course on probation with regular visits to Kedron’s head doctor, and to stand before a judge to make sure I’m meeting the requirements of a mentally stable human-being. 

But you see, I have no family left, and I don’t think very many people will rent out their flat to a murderer and rapist, so I’m sure you know where this is headed- and don’t frown, honey. You’re so pretty when you smile.

I expect a visit within the next few weeks.

Always, 

Harry

 

Louis had no idea how to process all of this, and felt his blood running cold through his veins and his thoughts melding together until his train of thought seized entirely. He just let his head loll forth, chin to chest, and cried.

He didn’t know how he felt about this all, and the most terrifying emotion he could feel budding in the pit of his stomach that no person should feel for someone as sick as Harry Styles. 

Hope.

—-

He had the biggest, shit eating smile on his perfect pink lips when they brought him through the wide white doors, in an bright orange jump suit and hand-cuffs.

At the sight of him, Louis tensed and instantly regretted the decision to come here. Even though they were separated by a thick sheet of plate glass like in prison, he could feel the boy’s constrictor grip on his neck and was finding it rather difficult to breathe. 

His palms grew clammy and trembled uncontrollably, eyes diverted to assure himself he wasn’t going to pass out. 

This was on the same level of a cocaine addict gone sober for a few years but always yearning and then sat in front of a line. 

He gulped when Harry sat down in the little folding chair on the other side of the plate glass window, that smile still pulling up his lips fully. 

Louis couldn’t help but notice how thin he’d become, although he did look healthier, his curls a bit more buoyant and skin milky as always but glowing. He instantly pinched the inside of his palm to remind himself to refrain from such appraising thoughts. 

He would be here for 10 minutes, max. 

Louis shifted in his seat as he felt Harry’s eyes once again scan him over, his dimples deepening the longer he looked. 

When he felt a nauseated pitch of his stomach with the tense awaiting silence, “You look terrible in orange,” was all he could scoff out, but the most sinful smile tried to pull up the edges of his lips, which he made a valiant effort to cover up. 

Harry actually laughed, but it was a harsh laugh- one you would expect from a murderer and rapist. 

But Louis couldn’t help but note how nice of a laugh it was, and considered it better than nothing. 

“I might as well be in prison, really.” Harry nodded, raking his teeth over his plump bottom lip before tapping his incredibly long fingers on the little counter. Louis’ eyes instantly became fixated on them, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he instantly thought of them wrapped around his neck, and then countered with the thought of them forcefully thrusting and curling up inside of him.

He tore his eyes away, clearing his throat, his heart leaping in his chest. Harry noticed this sudden change in behavior and another shiteating smile broke out on his lips. 

“Mmmm,” he tapped his fingers once more before placing them in his lap, “Well I see you got my letter.” 

Louis nodded quickly, leaning back in his chair, “Yep. And I came here to tell you there is no way in hell I’m taking you in.” 

Harry’s smile didn’t falter, “Oh?” He raised those long fingers to his lips, trailing them along his bottom lip, before licking at the corner of his mouth, sighing. 

A long, pregnant pause filled the rather quiet room, and Louis just stared at Harry, suddenly regaining his confidence. The confidence he had before Harry had stolen it. 

“I thought you’d look like shit after all this time, but God must love you; you look even better,” he didn’t refrain from masking the rudeness of his first remark and the one sitting on the tip of his tongue ready to be said, “And you obviously are single. You wouldn’t have came if you were fucking someone else,” he sighed with a proud smile, “Which also means you still wank over me.”

Louis just sat there, appalled and horrified. Every nerve and muscle in his body was ready to force him upright, to walk straight out the door he came in, but for some reason, he just sat there, mouth open stupidly, reeling for words. 

“Harry.” He warned, his voice octave dropping, teeth gritting. “I’m here not to see you, I’m here to tell you I am not going to allow a murderer and a rapist into my house.” 

The boy just smiled innocently and batted his eyelashes, and Louis’ stomach swooped. “I didn’t do such a thing, Lou.” He grinned, pressing his massive hand against the glass, making the man flinch. 

Louis bit back every fowl remark in the book, biting the inside of his cheek- hard to refrain from it. He looked down at his wrist-watch to assure he didn’t, noting it had been 10 minutes. 

“Well, it’s good to see that you’ve,” he rose his fingers to air-quote, “reached mental stability.” He rolled his eyes, “And haven’t changed at all in the two years, honey.“ 

Harry beamed sadistically at the comment, “Oh but I have.” He tutted, removing his hand from the glass as Louis made a move to stand up. 

Louis paused as he rose from his seat, raising his brows and staring at the boy dead in the eyes, “I’ve got to get going, lovely seeing you Harry.” He put a big, fake smile on his lips, shrugging on his jacket.

Harry continued to smile, “Great, I’ll see you on the 14th, yes?” 

Louis stepped out from the chair, again pausing just to stare at the boy, and looking at him now, something stole the word no from his mouth, and just left him with his mouth open, sighing out. He shook his head, no tin reply to the boy’s question, but to his own thoughts.

“Goodbye Harry.” He muttered, not being able to look back at him as he made his way to the checkout counter, and sauntered out of the door, feeling as though he had left a piece of his heart behind and the chords were still connected, threatening to rip him right back. 

In his car, he rested his head on the steering wheel, and let out a massive sigh, feeling the tears come biting back up. 

—-

The following weeks were hell, a false sense of confidence had set into Louis and he was sure fire set that he would never look back on Harry ever again.

So it was extra-painful and the guilt was sitting on his shoulders heavily when he glanced at the calendar and it was the 14th of March. He paced around his office, fingers pressed to his temples as he thought- long and hard, trembling with anxiety and fear.

Was he really having second thoughts on this whole thing, for fuck’s sake, Harry Styles was a murderer and a rapist who’s personality hadn’t changed at all in the two years he was sanctified ‘stable’ at Kedron. 

But maybe he had?

It was this nagging thought that was puncturing every valuable reason not to go and retrieve the man who raped and nearly murdered him two years ago to live with him.

He gulped, running a hand through his hair, feeling like he could scream in frustration. 

He sank into his leather recliner in his office, running his hands repeatedly over his face, before defeatedly letting his hands fall beside him. 

He’d be better off with Hannibal Lectur in his house.

There, he had it, having Harry in his house was a death sentence. 

He let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes on his final decision and a glance at his clock that read 9 am. He had only one appointment this morning, but was off the rest of the day. 

He considered a nap to calm his nerves, and liked the way this was feeling- feet up, head back and the fear melting away as his final decision was through. Harry wasn’t coming back into his life. 

And as he crept along the edges of sleep, his idle mind slipped into the memory of Harry bellowing out horrifyingly pitiful screams of sorrow and chanting truthful apologies.

Louis! I-I’m so sorry- LOUIS!

 

And with those words ringing in his ears, Louis bolted upright in his chair, retrieved his keys, and nearly ran out of his office. 

—-

 

“I knew you’d come.” Harry chanted with an almost childish grin on his face, but Louis could see straight through it to the gloating. 

Louis was terrified, really. He had a cozy flat on the outskirts of London, 2 rooms, 2 bathrooms. If that wasn’t the case, there was no way he would be hosting the boy with him. “Yeah, yeah.” He muttered, leaning on the sterile looking counter. 

“I put down your name anyways, because I knew. Put it down as the person going to host me.” He smiled again, looking over at the guard who was holding onto his bicep, even though he had hand-cuffs on. 

Harry had been given the clothes he had arrived in 2 years ago- which were almost too small for him now- in contrast to the memory Louis had of them almost falling off of his lanky hips and thin torso. 

“Don’t be too proud of yourself, Styles.” Louis muttered, again regretting this decision for at least the 10th time. 

“They’re happy it’s you, said they’d rather have no one else look after me.” Harry tutted. Louis gritted his teeth, holding back vile remarks on how they must have not known he was the person he had raped that got him in the damn place. 

“How ironic.” He smiled tartly, rubbing his palms together nervously. 

The more he thought about that night, the more his stomach twisted into a heated knot.

Had it been rape, though?

Louis shook his head at the thought, thankfully being saved by a tall blonde woman walking through the door and motioning for him to follow. 

—-

 

Louis had never signed so many contracts and agreements in his life, and by the last sheet, his eyes were crossing as the woman droned out more things to remember;

“You must do a weekly check-in with Kedron Valley.”

“You must fill out an evaluation sheet every week and send it to Kedron.”

“If he attempts anything of his old.. habits, do not refrain from calling the cops.” No shit.

“At night, for the first month, you are required to seal any windows in his room, and lock his door to withdraw from any potential dangers.”

Et cetera, et cetera. 

The more the woman droned on, the more Louis wanted to back out, picturing all sorts of horrible situations.

But at the last stroke of his pen, it was done, and he leaned back, blinking, trying to comprehend what this entitled him to.

He had practically just adopted a kid. A full grown, murderous, rapist.. kid. 

But again, those pitiful screams rang in his ears and the guilt and fear momentarily drained away. He knew there was a part of Harry that was true and untouched by the darkness of his past. 

So he uneasily made his way out into the waiting room to where Harry and the guard still stood- Harry chatting about something to the man, before turning his attention to Louis. 

“Alright, Styles. You’re free to go with Louis,” The woman said, her voice sounding tired. Harry grinned from ear to ear. “Just keep out of trouble, okay?” 

He nodded, glancing over at the guard and motioning for him to unlock his cuffs, “No no, please leave those on.. for my sake.” Louis interrupted, his voice cracking and eyes flitting back and forth from the obviously sexually tipped off Harry to the nodding, and very understanding guard. 

He breathed a sigh of relief as he was handed the hand-cuffs little silver keys, pocketing them and turning to the boy, who was obviously very excited. And in those moments, Harry looked like a perfectly normal person- not the dark and arrogant boy from before, but a truly excited, and innocent looking one. 

Louis smiled distantly, forgetting all of the weighted penalties this was bringing into his life, and just motioned for him to follow him out the doors. 

—-

Those idyllic, happy and neutral feelings were quick to leave as soon as he was sat in a car, solitary with him. A thick feeling of fear swallowed Louis whole, and he gripped the steering wheel until the whites of his knuckles showed. 

Harry grinned over at him the whole time, shifting in his seat to occasionally glance out the window and admire the scenery he hadn’t set eyes on in years. 

Half way home it started to snow, just making matters more tense and terrifying. Louis couldn’t tell if he was relieved to pull into the car park of his flat, not even able to look at the boy next to him when he pulled the key and cut the engine. 

“Here we are…” Louis said before, nodding once and sliding from the car. Fat snowflakes came to sit on his long eyelashes as he made his way around the car to let Harry out. 

—-

After sitting Harry on the couch nervously, Louis went about the duties of sealing the window his spare bedroom closed and spending a painfully frustrating amount of time configuring a lock system from the outside of the door. 

When all was said and done, Louis stood up and stretched his back, groaning and glancing out the window at the fresh blanket of snowfall that covered neighboring roofs in stark contrast to the rapidly falling night. 

A crashing noise made him nearly jump from his skin, and every hair on the back of his neck raise. A mantra of curses fell from his lips as he felt the color drain from his cheeks and he rushed into the living room from where it came from. 

What he saw utterly confused him, and a rush of color flushed into his cheeks and he let out a tense sigh. Harry was leaned over, trying to maneuver a glass from one of the china cabinets with his handcuffs on- which obviously had failed with the glass shards glinting everywhere along his floor. 

“Jesus, Harry. You scared the shit out of me.” Louis breathed, rushing over to the boy who looked up with wide doe-eyes, which crinkled up with a wicked smile at the man’s words. “Go sit down, fuck.” 

Louis proceeded to point at the couch, where Harry sauntered off to sit at as the man bent over to carefully pick up the shattered glass and dispose of it. 

“Sorry.” Harry simpered with his shit-eating grin that made Louis just roll his eyes. “Maybe if you took these damned things off of me things like that wouldn’t happen,” he said, shaking his wrists, making the metal cuffs jingle obnoxiously. Louis just threw him a damning glare, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Harry cocked his head, dropping his hands into his lap and smiling innocently. 

Louis rolled his eyes again, “Yeah that’s what you said last time.”

Harry let out a guffaw, shifting on the couch to cross his legs, “But I didn’t actually hurt you. Plus, I think you liked it.” 

Louis grew stiff, clenching his teeth to try and rid the instant pulse of heat that ran from his chest down to his groin. “I don’t know, I think choking is in the category of hurting someone.” He finally spat out bitterly, turning to saunter into the kitchen to retrieve a much needed glass of red wine. 

“People get off on that shit.” Harry called with another wicked and arrogant smile. 

“I’m sure they do, and I for one am not one of them.” Louis countered swiftly, but his voice cracking and revealing that he wasn’t being all that truthful. He certainly did have a sadistic side, but that situation had been a little different. He palmed the glass of wine and made his way back to sit on the coffee table in front of Harry, who licked at corner of his mouth. 

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he muttered with a grin, “can I have some?” He directed his line of sight to the wine in Louis’ hands that was raised to his mouth. 

He only subtly nodded and handed him the glass, which he raised to his lips and took a tentative sip, all the while keeping his eyes on Louis. 

When finished, he leaned forward and handed the glass back to Louis, letting his fingers subtly trail over the mans before leaning back again. “So how is Violet Quarters without me?” 

“Absolutely fantastic.” Louis trilled without missing a beat, taking another sip of the wine. 

Harry’s grin only widened, “Fantastic to hear.” He leaned forward again, resting his bound hands on the man’s knees. 

“Isn’t it?” Louis gave a faux smile, tipping his head to the side to glance down at his massive hands on him. Even though he was bound, the fear still ran through him like a cold wind. “If you do anything uncalled for don’t expect me to be lenient on your weekly check-in.” 

Harry, still smiling, didn’t move his hands, “Understood.” 

—-

The rest of night was quiet, Louis escaping for a while at the bench of his baby-grand Steinway, his fingers expertly roaming the black and white ivory keys, playing a mantra of ballads. The whole time Harry politely sat, with his eyes trained on the window as he slipped in and out of reality. 

When an abrupt and crashing noise of Louis slapping his hands down on the keys to signal his end, Harry’s eyes ripped up as if in sadness; the music had calmed him. 

Louis looked at his watch that read 9:53 pm, and shifted, arching his back with a yawn. “Time for bed, Styles.” He stood, motioning him to follow. Harry obeyed with no comment, even ducked his head as he followed him down the hall to stand parallel with the door.

“Hold out your hands,” Louis sighed, fishing out the little silver key from his back pocket and grabbing one of Harry’s wrists and unlocking the cuffs, pointing to the room. At just a rapid glance at the boy’s milky arms he noticed the scars running up and down them and instantly pity filled him. He glanced up at Harry, who was looking down as he rubbed his raw wrists. 

“Don’t do anything stupi—,” Louis voice was cut off by being slammed back into the hall wall, in a situation all too familiar. The shock of the sudden action had his mouth gaped open and eyes wide in horror. Harry’s massive hands were wrapped around his throat and squeezing, the blood rushing to his head quickly as he finally regained himself and reached up to claw at the boy’s hands to no avail. 

The boy leaned flush against him, his lips brushing against the shell of his ear, “Going to lock me away just like everyone else has?” He forcefully squeezed even harder, a pitiful gurgling noise emanating from Louis. “Tell me, Louis? Does your hand and fingers do yourself good? Does it feel good when you,” squeeze, “curl your pianist fingers up into that ass? When you come over the thought of me? Do you miss my cock?” His voice was sultry, dangerously low and gravely. He gave a sharp nip to his ear, breathing heatedly as Louis squirmed against him desperately. 

“H-Harry- ple-please, don’t.” Louis mustered out, and just like that, the grip around his neck was gone, followed by Harry’s quickly receding figure and the slam of his bedroom door. 

Louis gasped for air, leaning over and clutching at his neck as tears rolled down his nose, head spinning as it had the first time. With a haggard sob, he forcefully locked the bolt on the door and weakly made his way down the hall.

—-

Louis couldn’t sleep.

He simply stared up at his ceiling, mind racing a mile a minute. He didn’t know what to do, about anything anymore.

And the worst part of it all, was that he was hosting a painful hard-on that he did not dare touch for fear he’d absolutely lose it. 

He glanced over at his clock, sighing at the sight of a 1:30. With a tremendous sigh, he rolled from his bed and sauntered out of his room and into the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

As he desperately chugged the water as though his insides were on fire, he paused to just stand and stare, revel in the quietness.

But then from the quietness birthed a noise, a small sound almost unnoticeable. Louis wasn’t even sure of what it was, but he knew it was coming from Harry’s room, and instantly warning lights blinked in the back of his mind.

He considered just heading back to bed, ignore it, face him in the morning with a refreshed mind.

But the noise kept on, and curiosity out-weighed everything else, so he quietly crept to the door, un-bolted and pushed it open slightly. 

Illuminated in a dim beam of light seeping from the hall was Harry whith his back to the door in his bed. Louis deemed him just hearing things, and went to close the door, when the noise happened again and he paused, gulping. 

He was crying. 

“Harry?” Louis whispered, gripping the knob for a quick escape. The boy’s cries abruptly stopped and he whipped over to look at the door, his eyes puffy and red, watering. He made a quick attempt to wipe his face free of tears and replaced it with a weak smile- trying to capture that arrogant personality in place of this weak, innocent and broken looking Harry; the same one that had ended that horrible night. 

“What?” he spat, rolling back over to face away, sniffling. 

Louis’ brows piqued and an unusual feeling budded up in the pit of his stomach, “You okay?” 

“Just fine, boobear,” He simpered out fakely, “Thanks for asking.” 

Louis swallowed, wondering why exactly he was crying but met with a very obvious answer. After much thought and mentally having to shut down the blinking warning signs, he moved further into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“You don’t sound—,” he was again cut off, but for much more of a surprising reason. Harry had viper-like sat up and wrapped his hands around the boy’s shoulders, ripping him across the bed and pinning him down into the mattress, before leaning down and pressing his lips against his. 

Louis’ eyes were wide open in shock as their lips molded together, no movement, just a kiss. His heart galloped in his chest and body was tense. 

It was a kiss to prove something, and to what, Louis’ had no idea. 

Chills laced all the way up his body, radiating across his thighs and up his arms and neck. He could taste the salt of his tears on his lips, felt the warm liquid drip down from the boy’s closed eyes and onto his cheeks. 

And suddenly, something clicked.

Louis’ back arched up off of the bed to press his chest flush against Harry’s, his arms weaving up to plant his hands in those curls, and he kissed him right back. 

Harry himself was surprised, and almost forgot to kiss back- but when he did, it became a tangling of wet tongues and teeth, and hot breath echoing into one another’s mouths. 

The emotion’s were much different this time, and Louis didn’t notice when he himself started to cry until Harry pulled back just enough for his lips to ghost against his and catch his breath as he reached up to wipe away a stray tear rolling down the man’s cheek. 

The moments of ripping one another’s clothes off was a blur, and soon Louis found himself straddling Harry’s milky thighs and leaning down to plant wet kisses up under the boy’s cock which rested against his stomach. 

A mewling groan erupted from the back of the boy’s throat as he reached up to plant his hands into the man’s fringe as his cock was engulfed in his warm wet mouth. Louis definitely knew what he was doing, as he flattened his tongue and hollowed his cheeks, sinking down his girth, swallowing around him, which leeched a slur of obscenities from the receiving end.

“Yeah, Lou. Yes.” He breathed, hissing out between gritted teeth when he again swallowed around him. His grip tightened in the man’s hair and he began to guide his head down his length, slowly at first- which picked up into a brutal pace that had Louis gagging and spluttering, eyes watering, but he took it. Every time the boy’s cock hit the back of his throat, a near painful wave of heat pulsed to his already hard cock. 

When Louis could taste the warm and salty liquid of his precome, Harry released his hair and he dragged his mouth up and popped off the head, a deep flush in the man’s cheeks that crept down his neck and across his chest. Harry adorned the look as well, except his brows were furrowed. 

“Want you to ride me.” Harry growled out, lazily stroking himself as Louis blinked rapidly, his heart galloping in his chest as he momentarily looked over the milky expanse of the boy’s body underneath him, admiring his toned stomach and v-line, even the long scars that painted his entirety.

Louis knew better than to disobey him, so he situated himself above Harry’s length, grabbing hold of his base and situating himself with a deep breath, before the breath was stolen with a shriek as Harry bucked his hips up as he dropped down. The mixture of absolute ripping pain and sadistic pleasure spiked up and down the man’s thighs and spine. He threw his head back with wrecked breaths, as he leaned forward to balance himself with a hand on Harry’s chest.

He began to roll his hips in little figure-eights, small moans escaping his mouth as his eyes squeezed shut, coaxing his muscles to relax, and when they did, he opened his eyes in a burst of lust and he lifted up, before dropping fully back down, fitting his ass against the boy’s thighs. 

“Fuck,” Harry groaned out, his head- prior to being lifted up to watch his cock disappear repeatedly into Louis- fell back into the pillows with his chest rising and falling with wrecked breaths.

The bed springs squeaked in time with Louis’ erratic rises and falls. And as the man could feel his high nearing, his back arched and he rolled his hips down into him, presenting him with a pitched and surprised moan as Harry’s cock prodded his prostate. 

His cock was leaking as he continually bounced, his head falling back and adam’s apple bobbing with desperate little noises. 

Harry, not being able to take not being in full control any longer, grabbed a hold of Louis’ hips, raising his hips off the bed and planting his feet flat on it so he was raised just so, and began to relentlessly pound up into the boy, who was leeched of sound entirely, and his mouth just hung open with a paused breath, back arched. 

And when Harry reached his prostate dead on again, the chanting of obscenities and pornographic moans filled the room accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin. 

“Fuck, yeah. Yeah yeah-nngh, Harry.” He slurred out, rolling his hips down to meet his thrusts. 

“Y’like that, yeah?” Harry dug his blunt nails into his hips as he slowed his thrusts but amplified them by making them much harder. The heat pooling in both of their stomachs, Louis took his own cock in his hand and started to sloppily tug in time with the boy’s hips. 

And before he could realize it, he was coming- hard, his hips jerking erratically, eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed with a panting, and long groan. White ropes fell from his cock to paint the boy below him’s chest. And at the sight of Louis absolutely wrecked, Harry thrusted 1, 2, 3 more times up into him and came with a shout that echoed around the room, before it fell into silence besides the heavy breathing heaving from both of them. 

Louis slowly pulled up off of him, finding himself trembling from a mixture of pure exhaustion and awe, and also horror. He didn’t think about it when he leaned down to run thin wet trails up Harry’s stomach to collect the mess he had made, swallowing obscenely. Harry just watched him with blown out pupils, almost enough to fuel another hard on. 

But as Louis sat back on his haunches, and looked at Harry now in the eye, his emotions went into over-drive.

He crumpled down to lay beside the boy, and began to sob, his chest heaving with his wretched breathing. Harry didn’t question it, he knew exactly what this was, and pulled him into his arms. Louis’ quickened and wet breath was pressed against the boy’s chest, and he clutched at him desperately, crying, waling as though he had been told his mother had passed. 

And there he sobbed into a killer’s arms. He waled pathetically into the chest of a child molester. 

There was no other way to deal with the realization that slapped him so hard in the face it nearly blacked him out. 

He was in love with a monster.


	3. Part Three

Louis awoke stiffly, and as soon as his sleep clouded mind cleared, he took note of how every muscle ached, and how his head seemed extremely heavy. His eyes hesitantly creaked open to be greeted with a blinding amount of light, and he recoiled, rubbing his eyes with a deep sigh. The whole night before was a blur, and he wasn’t even positive what had happened- had he just gone to bed- why did his whole body hurt?

And then he remembered. He tensed, his eyes widening as he realized he was not in his room. He held his breath, feeling a terror spike up his spine as he dared a glance beside him, to find the bed was empty.

What should have been relief, turned into terror. If he wasn’t here, where was he?

He shot up in bed, and found his discarded flannels and burst from the room, everything clicking; that when he had came into Harry’s room, he had stayed and obviously left the door unlocked. His stomach turned and he quickly walked down the narrow hall to the kitchen and living area.

The sight in his kitchen had him stop and his mouth hang open. Harry stood there, adorned in one of Louis’ aprons, leering over the stove cooking eggs. “What are you doing?” Louis cried out, tense and still horrified. 

Harry looked over his shoulder, his lips pulling up into a wicked smile at the sight of the man. “Making eggs.” He returned his gaze back down to the simmering pan. 

Louis still didn’t move, it was like his feet became lead, “Eggs?” His stomach rolled. “I didn’t… have any eggs.” 

Harry looked back at him again with a little glint in his eyes and a condescending smile, “Well of course I went out to get some, silly little prick.” 

His head went dizzy and his hand flew to his mouth, his stomach turning. 

“You live 5 minutes away from the market, Louis. I didn’t take your car or anything, I’m not that reckless.” He grinned even further, before removing the pan from the burner and shuffling across the kitchen. 

Louis had literally allowed a rapist and murderer to roam the streets of London. He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of what would have happened if he had happened to get his hands on someone- Louis would have gone down with him.

“Y-You can’t do that, Harry,” he choked out, “I have to go with you everywhere.” 

Harry frowned as he placed the rather delicious smelling eggs onto separate plates. “I didn’t want to wake you, you look so pretty even when you sleep, Lou.” He simpered. 

Another nervous pitch of Louis’ stomach. He tried to mask his unnerved demeanor, “Did you sleep well?” 

“Oh very well,” He walked over with two bowls balanced in the palms of his hands, and Louis couldn’t help but think of how domestic he looked; his messy curls were illuminated by the feeble rays of morning light seeping through the living room window, and his dimples were poking through his milky cheeks, eyes filled with some sort of wicked adoration. He leered down to press a seemingly sweet kiss to Louis’ nose, which had his cheeks blooming with a dangerous shade of red. “Watched you sleep for a while, you cried a lot.” 

And instantly, the highschool girl flustered feeling Louis had vanished and he blinked, fidgeting with the rim of the bowl he now held. He decided not to comment on that observation, and just made his way to the table that Harry had sat himself at. 

Until now he hadn’t realized how last nights happenings had effected the way he walked so drastically, and he winced as he sat down, which Harry noticed and smiled so big that Louis thought his face might split in half. 

“I see you’re coping well.” Harry commented between mouthfulls of egg. Louis shook his head, not wanting to think about last night at all- from fear of breaking down or getting turned on. 

The man poked at his eggs, mentally noting that maybe he shouldn’t be trusting a murderer’s cooking skills, but based no the way they smelt and how Harry was almost done, he ate them. 

He decided Harry was actually a decent cook. 

When he looked up to comment on the food, Harry was already staring at him, resting the prongs of the fork on his bottom lip; they held eye-contact for what felt like an immense amount of time, and Louis could felt a helpless feeling come flooding into the pit of his stomach which forced him to break contact and stare at his hands. A flush of heat rushed into his cheeks, paired with hot tears pressing against the back of his eyes. 

The rest of breakfast was spent in silence, in which Louis couldn’t even look the boy in the eyes. 

—-

Louis spent even more time playing his piano that morning before he had to go to work- which the idea of escaping Harry for a few hours was both pleasant and terrifying. 

So when the time came and he shoved his legs into chino’s and pulled on a white button up to be paired with a skinny black tie, he was dreading it more than he would have liked. 

He wandered to the door, patting all of his pockets to assure himself he had grabbed not only his normal set of keys, but also the spare- just in-case. “Please, Harry,” he said as he turned to look back at the boy perched properly on the couch, “Stay out trouble, stay in the house. Help yourself to things- in reason. I’ll be back at 6 tonight.”

Harry nodded with the most shit-eating smile, raising his brows, “Of course, Lou. Anything for you.” 

Louis stared at him for a second, trying to ignore the sinful flush of heat that pushed to tighten his pants. He gulped, averting his eyes and scolding himself for such heinous thoughts. 

“Goodbye, Harry.” Louis said, turning to walk out the door. 

“Love you, Louis.” he heard called after him, in a defiant type of tone- as if he just said it unnerve him for the rest of the day- which he did successfully. 

—-

“Morning, Dr. Tomlinson.” The desk clerk chirped as he sauntered through the doors, looking distraught. He only nodded in her general direction before making his way down the hall, up the elevator, and into his office. 

He flipped on the lights, breathing in deeply and reveling in the normal silence. He shuffled to his leather recliner, sinking into the chair and staring at the ceiling as he had 30 minutes to kill.

He intended to kill it by just sitting and not thinking, but as soon as his pocket vibrated it was apparent that was not was going to happen. He hesitantly fished his mobile from his pocket and glanced at the message he had received. 

Louis had entirely forgot about his friends after he had received Harry’s letter, and was surprised to see his old highschool friend Zayn Malik’s name. 

Hey mate, haven’t heard from you in a while. Wanna have a beer tonight?

 

Louis smiled, releasing a pent up sigh- as though this message was the reassurance he needed to affirm that he indeed have a life. He went to type back that yes of course, but then paused and felt dread spiral through his veins as he remembered that he had a rapist and murderer residing with him. 

Wish I could, man x Work and other things have got me booked out. Maybe next week?

 

The man again sighed, leaning up in his chair and tapping his fingers on his knees as he awaited his reply.

Other things? ;) Boyfriend, Louis?

 

Even though Zayn wasn’t really talking to him, Louis’ face flushed and he gulped, shaking his head as though he could see him. 

No, not exactly ha. I’ll explain soon. Talk later, mate, I have an appointment x 

Louis slid his mobile back into his pocket as Wendy propped open the door, grinning as she always did. “Morning, Doctor.” 

“Morning Wendy,” he nodded his head with a weak smile and turned to glance at the frail looking woman making her way into the room with a long sigh. 

—-

By the time Louis parked his car at his flat, he was exhausted; mentally and physically. And the worst part of it all was that he had no desire to face Harry. 

But it was inevitable, and he faced that with a deep sigh and climbed out of his car. By the time he had his hand on the doorknob, he almost considered turning back and driving down to stay the night at Zayn’s. 

But with a deep sigh, he unlocked the door and pushed it open with a grunt. The foyer was dark- and he floundered around for the switch and wincing when he did find it. The light flooded into the living area which revealed Harry sitting- waiting- on the couch, stark nude, legs spread, head fallen back and mouth open with a panting breath. 

Louis didn’t know what to do but to just stare, gaping, as he felt heat rush between his thighs. 

The boy had those long fingers curled up inside of him, desperately pumping in and out with low groans, and no matter how hard Louis tried he could not take his eyes off of him. 

“Lou- unh yeah. Fuck.” Harry panted, and Louis couldn’t restrain the little groan that crawled up the back of his throat which brought the boy’s attention up. His head lolled forth with an instant wicked grin, his eyes wide and blown out with lust, he didn’t refrain from wriggling his ass down on his fingers. 

“Welcome,”groan,”home.” He grinned, not breaking eye-contact with him the whole time. Every sexually driven fiber in Louis- which was most- screamed at him, ached for him to go and take the place of his fingers, but his mind told him that he may shatter into millions of unfixable pieces if he did.

But those fibers won, and he dropped his briefcase right where he stood and bounded across the floor as he tore at his tie, tearing open his shirt with an animalistic fervor. 

“I said to stay out of trouble.” He growled, grabbing the boy’s knees and pressing them down into a normal sitting position so he could straddle his lap. 

“Oh but I am.” Harry purred into his ear, and Louis’ sudden act of dominance wavered slightly. His delicate hands wound up the bare plains of his scarred torso to place a grip into his curls, tugging them to angle his head to the side to give a better angle at his long and milky neck. 

He trailed kisses along his throbbing jugular, before sucking a dark bruise, followed by another, and another, occasionally tugging on his curls to leech low approving moans. He pulled back just enough to let his lips trail along the bruised skin, “You’re living under my roof,” he brutally ground his hips down into the boy’s lap, “which means you follow my,”grind,”rules.” 

Louis was sure he had Harry in putty when he didn’t say anything and continually ground down into his lap, moving his kisses and bites down his torso, latching his teeth around the boy’s right nipple, rolling the bud between his enamels, leeching a pornographic whine from the boy.

“I don’t think so,” Harry snickered, shoving the man over and switching roles instantly, straddling his lap and sinking his teeth into the man’s neck. Louis just moaned, instantly falling into this routine. There was always this fear in the back of his mind- what if he ends up killing you this time? 

But he never really listened to that warning, didn’t even the first time, and so he let his guard down and met Harry halfway in grinding up into him. 

“Fuck, Harry. I don’t know if I can take it.” Louis panted out as Harry began animalisticly unbuttoning the man’s pants and tearing them down his thighs. Harry just shook his head with a short laugh. 

“Oh, you’re going to take it.” And with that he was on his knees before Louis, wedging his hands under the crooks of his knees and shoving them up and apart, pressing wet kisses into his inner thighs, biting occasionally just to hear the desperate noises the man made as he arched his back. 

Harry inserted two fingers between his plump red lips, sucking profusely and noisily, keeping eye contact the whole time as he slowly drew them out and slid them down his thighs, before rather brutally inserting one finger into the man and curling it, rutting it knuckle deep.

Louis was still worn from the night before so he took the second finger with ease, and was wriggling down to fuck himself with eager little sighs. “Come on, Haz. Fuck me. Fuck my ass.” He hissed out filthy slurs between gritted teeth, his eyes squeezed shut in a mixture of ecstasy and pain.

“You’re an eager little slut tonight.” Harry half laugh, half growled in focus as he curled his fingers in determination again, wanting to make him come undone once before he actually fucked him. 

And it was working well, so he latched his mouth onto the delicious part of his thigh, sucking and nibbling as he inserted a third finger, grinning against his skin wickedly when he reached that bundle of nerves that had Louis arching up off of the couch with a guttural shout, thighs jerking and toes curling. 

“Come for me, honey.” Harry growled against his skin, sending dangerous vibrations spiking up and down the man’s thighs, echoing in his achingly hard, leaking, and un-touched cock. 

Two more thrusts of his fingers was all it took to have Louis’ arms flailing out to grip the back of couch as he came with a haggard shout, white ropes painting his stomach. “Fuck.” He breathed as he collapsed against the couch, his chest rising and falling quickly. His eyes creaked open to look down at Harry, who was placidly grinning before leaned up to kitten lick his abdomen and collect the mess he had made. 

Swallowing obscenely loud was all it took to fuel Louis into a painfully hard cock again and he whimpered pitifully. 

“Oh, I’m not done with you.” Harry tutted, scooping up the man up off of the couch with ease, and carrying him to Louis’ own room, throwing him down on the bed like a ragdoll. 

Louis just stared up at him with pleading eyes- whether they were for him to ravage him or to go easy, Harry couldn’t tell- and didn’t necessarily care. So he flattened the man on his back, picked up his knees and folded them up against his chest, aligned himself, and ruthlessly pounded straight into him with a grunt. 

“Oh god Harry.” Louis whimpered, reaching up to place his hands on the boy looming over him’s shoulders, digging his blunt fingernails into his skin as he began to relentlessly pound into him, occasionally moaning out his names or filthy obscenities that just fueled the fire burning in the pit of Louis’ stomach.

“You like that? Yeah? Like it when I dominate you?” He growled out in a slur of words that was almost incoherent. They were both close, and Louis’ head lolled back, the answer to his seemingly rhetorical question lodged in his throat in the form of a loud moan. 

He didn’t want to fuel Harry’s sadistic fire, but at the same time, he wanted to so badly. 

 

So he did.

“Yes.” He panted out, which turned into a scream where the lines of pain and pleasure were blurred as he came with barely anything to provide. It echoed around the room, nearly drowning out Harry’s fairly loud groans as he continually rolled his hips into the man, finally coming with a shout and quite literally collapsing in a heap beside the man. 

They didn’t say anything, just laid there in a panting mess, staring up at the ceiling. 

Surprisingly enough, Harry again pulled the man into his arms, resting his chin on the top of his head, sighing out as his breathing finally steadied and the after tremors settled. 

Louis was just on the hinges of sleep, where the line between dream and reality was blurred, when a word was whispered into the shell of his ear.

It was a distressed noise, almost pitiful, and his eyes creaked open, feigning from drowsily closing. 

He waited a moment to try and let his sleep fogged mind to decipher what he had just heard Harry whisper to him.

“There’s more.”

Louis blinked unneedidly in the oily blackness, and he laid their quietly for a few moments, trying to decipher what that could mean itself. 

“What?” He whispered back, but a chill had swallowed his whole body and turned his reply into a chattering of teeth. 

He then noticed Harry was crying, realizing this when he heard the tiniest sniffle.

“What?” He repeated cautiously, turning to face the boy, who’s tear stricken face was shadowed. 

“Bodies.”


	4. Part Four

Bodies?  
Louis instantly recoiled, he wasn’t even sure what that meant, and he reeled for an answer, while just blankly staring with wide eyes at the boy sobbing before him. He hadn’t seen him this broken since the night.   
“What… do you mean Harry?” Louis asked stiffly, holding his breath until he thought his lungs would pop. He found himself shifting further away, but Harry was grasping onto his shirt like a child screaming for comfort.  
Harry was hyperventilating and sobbing so hard his words were barely coherent, “Bodies, Louis. People, children- oh god children.” Louis tensed and slipped out of the bed, staring down at the boy who writhed like a fish out of water in despair. The man felt as though he might puke, he didn’t want to believe this- he had to be dreaming.   
Louis didn’t realize he had started to cry himself until he spoke, “What do you mean more bodies Harry?!” He shouted, trembling and leaning on the edge of the bed for support as he was feeling extremely light-headed.   
“I don’t know, Louis,” the boy sobbed, suddenly sitting straight up and crawling across the bed to clutch onto Louis’ arms, who flinched and pulled away, “It’s all a blur… I-I get bits and pieces and I didn’t start remembering… things… until I came here- until I met you.” He sounded so wounded and distant, he was looking at the wall with watery eyes and his lips were swollen and red, cheeks painted with lines of tears.   
Louis was now flattened against the wall, his stomach constantly turning and threatening to turn itself inside out, “You killed more people?” He brokenly whispered, bottom lip quivering in horror.   
Harry let out a mangled yell, covering his ears and hunching down as though someone had just screamed straight into his ear, pinching his eyes shut as he wailed even louder, “Don’t say that, I don’t want to hear it.”   
“Harry!” Louis yelled, pushing off the wall and gripping the sides of the boy’s shoulders, forcing bleary eye-contact, “You have to breathe for me, okay? You have to tell me what you’re remembering.” He tried to touch back into his years of therapist experience, but it was erratic and messy to the fact he was falling so heavily for someone who just told him he killed more than seven people.   
Harry shook his head over and over, his chest rising and falling hectically, bottom lip quivering, “I don’t KNOW, Louis! I feel it, I don’t see or remember it.. normally.” He croaked out through barred teeth, as though he restraining some sort of fury. Louis took the chance to rub his shoulders to try and soothe him, cooing gently.   
“What do you feel?”  
Harry glanced up, the calm that had momentarily washed over the boy with Louis’ cooing, changed to shame and he diverted his eyes as his bottom quivered again and he shook his head, looking down at the quilt.   
“Harry,please.”   
He again shook his head over and over, pitiful cries echoing from his mouth, “I-I just feel this heavy weight on my chest- like a boulder is just sitting there. Like their.. bodies are suffocating me.” He whispered it, almost inaudibly.   
Louis couldn’t help the terrified moan that scraped up the back of his throat, and he couldn’t help but let out a little sob, “Harry…” was all he could muster. He felt so sick, not only for the weight of the situation, but also the fact he felt… pity for him. A second thought nagged at him- what if he’s just playing that guilt card, making up stories again. But with the stricken look on his face, he decided against that. He ran a hand up to push his curls from his face- and surprisingly even to himself, leaned forth and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He took a bite from the forbidden apple, and an unusual tremor gripped his whole body. Harry momentarily stopped trembling and peered up at him under wet lashes. He weakly smiled- not his usual wicked smile- just one of genuine thankfulness. Louis let out a broken sigh, cupping the boy’s cheek in his hand.   
“Harry… I have.. I have to take you to Violet Quarters..” He whispered, and instantly Harry’s smile was gone and he slapped away his hand with a ragged sob, his hands flying to cover his face.   
“You can’t!” He yelled into his palms, looking up with overflowing eyes, “You can’t lock me up again! That’s all they ever do and it’s not helping anymore!” He was screaming, and Louis was stepping backwards, sobbing himself. His heart ached and head bowed as he cried, knowing the boy was right, yet so wrong.   
He’s a murderer.  
Lock him back up before he can get you too.  
That thought brought back the painful memory of hitting the floor with a thud and looking up through blurred vision to a obviously confused and frustrated Harry- who quickly turned into horror and crying; the first night those 2 years ago. He hadn’t killed him then, before all of this, so why would he now?  
Louis blinked back more tears as he tried to summon his therapist side, see what would really benefit the boy.  
You.   
He glanced up at the boy, who was gripping the quilt of the bed as though he was trying to hold himself here, as though he was afraid Louis would come over and haul him out into the snow and back to a padded room. Any normal, sane person would do that.   
Louis returned to him, and Harry actually cowered back and it was uncharacteristic it stung Louis and he reached out tentatively to brush away the tears from his face.   
“Okay.. it’s okay, Harry. We’ll,” he breathed in deeply, cupping his chin and raising his face to make eye-contact, “We’ll do this together, we’ll figure out what happened.. okay? Together, so you have to help me and not make up stories.” Harry’s facial expression changed from apprehension and terror to one of awe, his furrowed brows and tensed facial features instantly relaxed into a doe-eyed gaze and his lips parted. He nodded once, before his bottom lip twitched again and he bowed his head and began to sob- but it was relieved and thankful cry.   
The boy suddenly looked up, slapping both of his massive hands on either side of Louis’ head- who shrieked in surprise- and pulled him forcefully to him, roughly pressing his lips against his. Louis partially relaxed when he realized it was just an innocent kiss. Harry sloppily traced his wet lips along his, gripping his hair as he openly sobbed, his mouth open and raking in breaths as he pressed half-hearted kisses to Louis’ lips, nose, and forehead.   
And as soon as it started, a halting breath slit the silence and Harry sat back on his calves with a bewildered look on his face. He blinked several times, gulping loudly. He smiled wickedly, before it was quickly snapped off and he looked out the window, “Get out.”   
Louis shook his head, startled, “What?”  
“Get out,” Harry said at an equal tone and stared at him, “I need to think.”   
Louis just nodded numbly, shuffling out of the room, locking the bolt, and standing in the hall- where dim light from the outside streetlamp flooded in. He stood there, staring at the little picture of the London Eye on the wall which, in the dark, looked like a network of ghoulish rods in contrast to a gloomy sky. The gaze he had fixated on the picture blurred with his tears, and he looked down at his feet, covering his face with trembling hands as a helpless feeling again swallowed him whole.   
—-  
Louis gave up on sleep when it turned to 6 am, and he sat up in bed, daring a glance in the mirror to reveal his swollen, bloodshot eyes and messed hair. The sun was peaking up over the roofs of his neighbors, and in a second decision, he made his way out into the living room, cupping the pack of cigarettes he kept hidden in his sock drawer for very rare occasions.   
Perched on the balcony outside, he glanced down at the cobbled road slowly coming to life beneath. He took a long drag, exhaling and studying how the smoke rolled about his face, licking at his eyes and making them further red. Someone once told him that smoke follows beauty. He shrugged ironically to that thought and ashed the cigarette, before dropping it into the street carelessly.   
—-  
At 7, he unlocked Harry’s door, giving one prompt knock before turning back to the kitchen. That was now his way to let Harry know he could come out. To his surprise, he sat in silence for 45 minutes, after he dressed for work at 9, before he heard the door creak open and the boy shuffled out with, besides the bags under his bloodshot eyes, had a, as usual, wicked grin on his lips, eyes heavily lidded as the always were- mocking him.   
“Morning, Lou.” He croaked out, bee-lining for the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. Louis turned to look at him, and only nodded his head before returning his gaze down at the newspaper he held- although he couldn’t focus on a single word he read.   
“Crazy night last night.” He chuckled bitterly, before raising the glass to his lips and chugging.  
Louis flinched and shook his head, aimlessly flipping a page, “Remember anything?” He glanced up at him over the brim of his glasses, blinking apprehensively- trying to shroud the fact he was wrecked.   
“Not a thing.” He said simply, pursing his lips before sauntering into the living area and looming over the man, reading the paper over his shoulder.   
“Shame.” Louis said tersely, favoring the idea that Harry probably was lying last night. He let out a breath, and as he did, he felt the boy behind him tense.   
“You smell like smoke.” He said in a hushed, furious sounding voice. Louis’ brow furrowed in a incredulous expression, glancing back at him, suppressing a gasp at the fury very apparent on Harry’s face. He was trembling when he suddenly grabbed a hold of the back of Louis’ shirt and threw him out of the seat with an enraged shout. “Don’t fucking smoke around me, prick.” He shouted, throwing his glass of water at the man cowering back on the floor- the glass shattering right beside his face in a splash of razor sharp glass and water.   
“Harry?” Was all Louis could muster out, staring up at the boy who’s muscles were tense and eyes dark with an absolute livid look before he stormed down the hall, entering surprisingly into Louis’ room, muttering disdain curses of trying to find his stash of cigarettes.   
Louis was in such shock he laid there, staring at the ceiling in a stunned state. He turned his brain inside-out trying to figure out the stem to what had caused that outburst, but came to a dead end and sighed with tears pressing at the backs of his eyes. He shook his head in defeat before weakly clambering to his knees and carefully picking up the broken pieces of glass that sliced his fingers to bloody rags.   
He cursed under his breath, ignoring the pain and inspecting the wounds, distantly hearing Harry storming out of the man’s room, glancing up to see him gripping the pack of cigarettes, a disgusted look on his face as he made his way to the sink and doused them in water and then shoved them down the garbage disposal, wrinkling his nose.   
He glanced up at Louis’ who was fumbling around the floor still, blood leaking out over his fingers and onto the floor. He cursed quietly again, and flinched when he heard Harry’s sudden harsh laughter.   
“You’re bleeding.” He pointed out bluntly, moving to kneel down beside him, looking at his gashed fingers. Louis began to lose his touch on not thinking about the pain and dropped the glass he had picked up onto the floor with a low and pained groan.   
“No shit, your fault,” He panted, uneasily standing and shuffling to the kitchen, where Harry followed close behind, “it’s the second glass you’ve fucking broke.”   
Harry just bitterly laughed, grabbing the back of his shirt again and hauling him to a stop and grabbing a hold of his arms and assessing the wounds with narrowed eyes.   
Louis instantly went stiff, “Harry.” he warned, but the boy gave him a patronizing look before grinning and rolling up the man’s white sleeves and pushing his fingers under warm running water in the sink.   
The boy demanded he stay where he is while he fetched antiseptic from the bathroom, and poured it mercilessly over the open wounds which had Louis howling in agony.   
“Shh, Lou.” Harry teased, pressing a mocking kiss to the man’s cheek, continually pouring the alcohol until Louis’ fingers were sterilized to the point he could have been cleared to do do surgery sans gloves.   
“Now, you can use your fingers for a while, I’m not going to bandage them yet.” He tutted, and Louis glanced over at the boy, who’s eyes had grown dark and a wicked smile was on his lips.   
Louis cleared his throat, “Do you know how hard it is to not use your fucking hands, Harry?” He spat bitterly, shifting to face him, gesturing to his hands. If Harry wasn’t smiling big enough before, his face nearly split in half now.   
“Oh, I think I know how to keep you from using them.” And just like that, Harry had him by the tie on his neck, which he undid expertly, and whipped it off of him. Louis stared at him with wide eyes.   
“Harry.” He warned again, his teeth gritted, “Don’t you fucking dare. I have work in 30 minutes.”   
The boy just rolled his eyes with a dismissing smile and held the boy’s wrists together with one hand and bound them with the other. Louis squirmed against him, letting out helpless pants, jerking his arms away as hard as he could which was a lost cause to the strength of Harry.   
And just like that, his hands were bound; he really had no chance to the boy, who was 9 years younger than him, yet towered a head taller than him, and was gazing down at him with the most damning look.   
Louis actually had to tilt his head to look up at him, and when he did they were so close their noses almost brushed together.   
“Fuck you.” Louis spat.  
“Gladly.” Harry retorted.  
The boy latched onto the man’s bicep and hauled him into the living room, throwing him onto the couch and discarding of his nice, corduroy pants, along with his topman boxers. Louis just looked up at him with blown out pupils, and he maintained the pissed off look, even though his body betrayed him and was sporting a hard on. Harry cooed, palming himself lazily through his sweatpants.   
“Hands and knees.” The boy demanded, and Louis’ glared at him, staying where he was. Harry raised his brows, impressed with this rebellious side of the man. “Don’t make me tell you again.”  
Louis’ must have realized that this was a murderer saying this and decided it might be the best idea to do what he says. He shifted so that his bare ass faced Harry on the couch, having to lean down onto his elbows considering his hands were bound and in improper use for holding him up. So he was perched with his ass in the air, trembling with apprehension.   
Harry smiled tersely situating himself on his knees behind Louis, studying the curves of the tan body before him. He bit hard into his bottom lip, squaring his still clothed hips against Louis’ bare thighs and ass, which earned him an earnest moan from the man.   
The boy grinned, running his hands up and down the soft skin of his thighs and ass, before sending a hard smack down on his right cheek. Louis let out a startled keen, his back arching and head lolling to hang loosely forward.   
Harry reveled in how just one slap left the skin pink and leaned down to press a wet kiss to where he had left the mark. Another moan from Louis had his pants restraining him uncomfortably, so he quickly stood up and shed them, spitting in his palm and pumping himself several times before assuming his prior position, teasing the man beneath him by rutting his hips up against the man’s thighs again.   
“Are you just going to fuck me everyday or something?” Louis moaned out, trying to sound annoyed but failed miserably as he ended it with a pitched whine when he felt the boy slide into him. “Fuck.”  
Harry grinned as he wound his hands down to grip onto the man’s hips, surely leaving bruises at how tightly he was. He sat still for 1, 2, 3 long seconds, before pulling out and slamming back in, repeatedly, and already finding that spot inside of the man that had him biting into his arm to suppress the screams.   
Louis knew he wouldn’t last very long based on last night, and found himself coming quickly, his back arching and breath rushing out paired with a moan. Harry groaned, running a free hand up to run his blunt fingernails down the man’s still clothed back. Even through the fabric, Louis shivered.   
Harry was still rocking into him when the man glanced up at the wall clock signifying he had 5 minutes to get to work on time. He let out a warning groan. “I have to go.”   
Harry ignored him and continually rolled his hips, leeching pitiful moans from the man beneath him, who was hyper-sensitive already.   
“I’m not ready for you to.” Was all Harry mustered between gritted teeth, before removing himself, and easily hauling Louis up off of the couch. The boy made a beeline for the piano, straddling the bench and facing Louis to him as he had the boy straddle him.   
“Ride me.” Harry demanded, and Louis could do nothing but comply, his cock was throbbing and leaking again and his thighs trembled. So he sank back down onto him, their bodies so close, that their chests were pressed together and Louis’ cocked rubbed up against Harry’s bare torso with each bounce.   
Harry again gripped the boys hips for support, digging his thumbs into his hipbones and leaning forth to ghost his lips along his neck, which was already littered with lovebites.   
“That’s right.” He appraised as Louis continually bounced on him with little moans, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to focus on the pleasure more than the pain. “Fuck me, yeah.” He chanted against the man’s neck, which earned him another guttural groan.   
Out of no where, Louis’ came with a weak shout, coming almost dry, which had him seeing stars and head turning. He was nearly crumpled against Harry, resting his head on the boy’s shoulder as he panted.   
Harry chuckled into the shell of his ear, kissing his neck. “Oh, I’m not done with you.”  
Louis instantly tensed, wanting to dismount himself and get out of here, but he was too weak to do so. So when Harry himself was rocking up into him on the bench, he just groaned, feeling himself tense around the boy’s cock, which apparently drove Harry himself over the edge, as he came with a breathy moan in the man’s ear, which was certainly enough to drive Louis into yet another painful erection.   
“Harry,” he choked out, as he felt as though his whole body was on fire, “please, stop.” He begged, which again wasn’t acknowledged as he was lifted off of Harry and onto the piano, his feet resting on the keys with a clang of interfering notes.   
The boy took the man’s cock in his mouth, nearly swallowing him whole, which had Louis sobbing in a certain form of sadistic ecstasy as sensitive spikes ran up and down his thighs and spine.   
Pornographic slurping noises echoed about the room as Harry milked the man dry, teasing the slit before sinking fully back down until his nose pressed against his stomach, then back up again, repeat. Louis’ felt the heat boiling in the pit of his stomach, and prepared himself for it, tensing his whole body, as Harry again sucked hard on the head. And just like that, Louis came with an agonizing wale, coming dry- and impossibly hard. So hard in fact, that the mixture of coming 3 times after twice the night before and no sleep, had his eyes loll shut and he black out.   
—-  
The chipper noise of his house phone ringing was what awoke Louis’. In a dazed manner, he looked around where he was, finding that he was in fact on his couch. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten here, and why he felt so weak; that was until he moved and found that his whole body was beyond sore. He remembered bleakly that Harry had in fact fucked him into oblivion.   
A spark of horror had his chest clenching as he tried to sit up straight. He was supposed to be at work. He rolled from the couch, practically crawling across the floor to retrieve the phone. He noted how his hands were unbound and his pants were on.  
He glanced at the caller ID.   
Vioilet Quarters.  
He answered hoarsely.   
“Dr. Tomlinson? Oh dear lord, we were worried. You don’t ever not show up without a warning. You sound horrible.” Wendy piped up, sounding stressed.   
Louis reeled for an answer, or some sort of reply, glancing up at Harry, who was now standing in the living room with a dishevelled look on his face. Louis again cleared his throat, glancing at the time. He’d been out for 2 hours. “I’m so sorry, Wendy. I woke up feeling terribly.. ill this morning and passed out before I could give a ring.” He croaked out, glaring at Harry.  
“Oh,” she tutted, “well I’ll cancel your appointments for the day, sir. You get to feeling better.”   
Louis let out a long sigh, “Thanks, alright. Bye.” He pressed the end button harshly, grimacing at the pain that caused his fingers. He returned his look up at Harry, who’s facial expression hadn’t changed into one of an arrogant sort. That instantly took Louis off guard.   
“Harry?” He croaked out, brows furrowing, even further so as he watched the boy’s bottom lip begin to tremble and eyes to water.   
“I remembered.”  
Louis blinked, pausing to try and once again decipher the vast meaning that could have.   
“Wha-” Louis was cut off but Harry’s sudden tense desperation;  
“I remembered while you.. you were unconscious ” His voice was soft, trembling, as he was obviously trying to suppress more tears.   
Louis instantly tensed up, leaning on the counter or support.  
“What did you remember, Harry?” He said carefully, holding his breath.   
“Where the bodies are.”


	5. Part Five

Louis couldn’t describe what he had felt, wasn’t even sure what he had expected him to say. He was sure that Harry had been lying, but the distressed look on his face reminded him that he in-fact was not.

But beyond the look of distressed truth on the boy’s face, was confusion. “Where are they?” He tried to cover the horror in his voice with a thin blanket of calm.

Harry’s eyes diverted, and he glanced at the floor, brows furrowing. His mouth opened, then closed quickly, as though he had remembered than forgot. He looked helplessly, his face screwing up in frustration.

“I-I.. I just had it.” He nearly screamed out, running his hands through his hair as to not tear the flat apart. Louis flinched.

He would have been lying if he himself wasn’t frustrated, “Harry, focus, god dammit. Shouldn’t it be apparent where you buried fucking people?” He spat it out viciously more so than he meant to, and bit his tongue as the boy looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t know why I can’t remember. It’s like my memories are muddled and distant. Like the confusion you have when you swear something happened to you, but it was actually in a dream. It’s that fine of a line.” He spat back with equal venom, and made his way to lean on the table, looking at the newspaper splayed out.

Louis considered the boy was repressing memories to keep himself from snapping again. Even when Harry had come to him in Violet Quarters, he hadn’t really known much about his case. He could be missing large portions of the story just by not paying attention. 

“They’re behind my old home.. where my mum lives.” Harry suddenly whispered out, his face gone slack with realization, he looked back over his shoulder.

“What?” Louis went stiff, his stomach dropped. “Your mum still lives there?” He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know.

“Yes.” He spat, looking back down at the paper. 

“We have to call the police, Harry.” Louis said tentatively, and instantly Harry whipped around, striding in one bound to him and looming over him. 

“Don’t, Louis. They’ll shut me away for good.” His voice wavered, as though that thought was worse than death. 

Louis let out a short breath, “Maybe they should.”

Harry’s eyes softened with actual hurt, he stepped back, a tense silence filled the room. “I thought we were going to figure this out together.” His voice was small.

“You killed people, Harry. More people.” Louis countered firmly, perspiration building up on his palms and forehead. Harry again covered his ears with a pitiful yell. 

“Please, Louis. I can’t, I don’t.. I,” he stumbled over his words helplessly, “Just.. take me to the house! Let me see if my memories are true at least.” 

The man didn’t say anything, just stared at him, so many different thoughts and questions bubbling up in the back of his head. He took an unsavory look out the window to see it was snowing still, a sheet of white cascading down. 

“Go to your room.” Louis said bluntly, not even able to hide the grimace of how condescending that sounded, as though he was his father, demanding he go to his room after not taking out the trash. The weight of differences in wrongs of a young boy and Harry’s murders were much larger. Harry sent him a sour look, before turning on his heel and sauntering down the hall. 

When he heard the door close with a reassuring thump, he turned to his laptop on the counter.

After 30 minutes of searching police reports, news reports and beyond about Harry and his murders, he was trembling. He had found the address to his prior home, the one he must have been indicating the rest of the bodies were buried. He gulped when his eyes scanned over a phone number for the house, which he saved for later. 

He continued to read, and what he found was astounding in both manners;

February 13th, 2011 7:31 am

Harry Styles, 16, was brought into LPD for questioning after the grotesque remains of 7 people, ranging from young boys to middle-aged women, were discovered across the city. All concluded to be raped then slaughtered until unrecognizable and only affirmed identity after DNA tests. The bodies ranged in time of being deceased from 5 years ago, up until now.

The only physical evidence left was an unidentified shirt, removed at the scene of every killing. Coroner’s of the LPD determined they were raped premortem, followed by blunt-force trauma to the head, then slaughtered. Why they brought Styles in for questioning was a mystery to the press until an anonymous tip had lead them there and the confirmation of DNA from the shirts was in fact Styles’. 

In interrogation, Styles was said to be extremely dazed and groggy, also with massive changes in personality in the matter of a second. When questioned about why his shirts were left stray and carelessly at the scene of the murders, he laughed in their faces, as though the answer were obvious, before he would crumple back into his chair with a confused look on his face, as though the obvious answer had escaped him. 

At his trial, on January 12th, 2011, Styles plead not guilty. With a determined Jury, even with the limited evidence besides the shirts- they determined guilty with 7 charges of child molestation, rape, and murder, sentenced to life in prison. At his hearing a week later, with no other way out, he plead guilty on reason of insanity. The Jury sent him to Violet Quarters Mental Rehabilitation Center. There he resides now.

 

Louis glanced up from his screen with tears brimming in his eyes, something about this felt wrong. No other witnesses had been accounted for, even though the evidence seemed enough- something seemed… off. Missing. 

Over the span of 5 years, seven people were raped and murdered. That would make Harry eleven years old when he raped and killed his first victim. 

Louis strained, yet recalled the very first day he met with Harry, remembering what the boy had said so arrogantly. You see it started out when I was about 13. 

Louis breathed in shallowly, feeling as though he had just opened a can of worms he really shouldn’t have. Sure, Harry had gone on to explain he had slaughtered his neighbor’s cat, and proceeded by ending it by laughing in his face at how it was all a lie. But that night, the night that pained him every night, came back, how Harry had told him that he really had done it. 

2 years was a huge gap to forget between killing a cat or a kid. 

Louis glanced down at his mobile, which already had the house phone’s number dialed into it. After a moments thought, he sheepishly reached for it- having too many questions that needed to be answered. 

So he pressed send and held it to his ear, holding his breath as the tone bleated on. It rang so many times he considered to hang up, when the tone abruptly stopped with a rustling noise and a chipper voice answered.

“Hello?” It was obviously a woman, Louis hadn’t expected a man, Harry had said his father had left when he was 10. He tried to quickly recollect the boy’s mother’s name.

“Hello, is this Anne?” Louis inquired stiffly, trying to cover up the quiver in his voice. 

More rustling, as though she were switching the phone to her other ear, a confused noise burbled out, “Anne? No, that was my mother’s name. This is Gemma. May I ask who this is?”

Louis’ blood instantly ran cold, and he glanced back out the window with a million more questions. Harry had never mentioned having a sister, didn’t even make a slight remark about any other family other than his mum and dad. 

He cleared his throat, “This is uhm, Louis Tomlinson, your brother, Harry’s, therapist. I was calling with a few questions.”

“Harry?” The girl sounded startled, “Wow, I haven’t seen him since I moved out. Is he alright? I mean.. after he was found guilty of those murders.” Her voice cracked, as if she were suppressing something. 

Louis again cleared his throat, “He’s just fine,” he lied,” Sorry to bother you, but do you still live on.. 312 Kimpton Road?” He narrowed his glance at the address on his laptop. 

“Kimpton?” She laughed sadly, “I haven’t lived there in.. 8 years. Though, I have the house phone rerouted to my mobile just in case someone calls about Harry. You’re the first to call, really,” she sighed, retouching on the subject, “Nope, moved out of there shortly after our mother passed.”

Louis’ breath hitched in his throat. What? 

“What?” He repeated, floundering, “When did your mother pass?”

“I suppose when Harry was about 10. He attended therapy for years. Our Dad did too, but he went off the deep end, and Harry started changing..” Her voice broke uncomfortably, “He would have fits of anger, and would scream in terror at the most simple of things. It was like he was forgetting how to function emotionally..”

Louis’ heart was in his throat. 

“He forgot my name, I remember one day he came home from his therapy session and started screaming when he saw me, saying there was some stranger in the house.” Her voice wavered, and Louis instantly felt pity for her. “I moved out the next day. My Dad became extremely distant, I haven’t spoken to him since that day.” She laughed quietly, as though to cover up the sudden tears choking her words, “Sorry, I just rambled on you.”

“No.. no it’s fine.” Louis said distantly, staring at the screen until the words became blurs. “Does your father still live in the house on Kimpton?” 

“It’s been vacant for a few years, I rerouted the number 2 years ago after getting word that Harry was found guilty,” she sighed, as though this conversation was physically exhausting, “So I guess sometime before that.” 

A moment to try and untangle this web of thoughts and findings bloated the silence, “Well.. thank you Gemma. I’ll try to keep you updated on your brother.” 

“Thank you, Louis. Have a good day,” She cut herself off, “Oh, and why again did you want to know about the house?”

Louis thought over an answer, and decided the truth would be far too much, “Just a link in his wellfare. Thank you again, Gemma.” He said, before quickly hitting end before she could question further.

Louis leaned back with wide eyes, his shirt sticking to his back with perspiration. He didn’t even know where to start, but all he knew was that something was very, very wrong.


	6. Part Six

He’s cold, trembling; shivering beyond the point of self-control. The kind that starts in your stomach and quakes out into your limbs, has your teeth chattering loudly and you can’t help it. 

He’s cold, though it’s 80 degrees. 

His heart is galloping, and he’s running. Running to the edge of some blurry tree-scape, where the tree’s stand close together. Off some distance behind him a voice is bellowing some incoherent slur, and he quickens his pace, though he doesn’t know how he manages it.

He makes it to the edge, and he can barely see- what exactly is he doing here again? He’s breathing raggedly, the grass curls away to bare dried pine needles and moss. And more importantly, a mass.

It’s a bloody, disfigured mass, a woman; or what used to be. Her head is lolled to the side, completely mauled, caved in on itself and producing copious amounts of blood. Already, creatures and maggots are crawling about her flesh, and he’s positive he’s going to be sick. 

Yet he’s seen this very image many times, he wretches onto the ground beside her, before looping his hands underneath her twisted shoulders and begins to drag her between the trees.

He breathes, spastic, nervously, as though the trees are silent on-lookers, deeming and judging quietly, glaring down at him. He hears that same voice bellow out loudly beyond, and he quickens his pace, further into the oily black abyss. 

He’s crying, drags her further into the forest, descending a steep slope, stumbling pitifully. And when his foot catches an unearthed root, his feet swing out beneath him and he crashes backwards, rolling downward this descent. 

He hits the bottom, and is spluttering in a mossy bed, when her body comes cascading after him, and just as a limp rag-doll, rolls straight onto his chest, suppressing his breath. Her mauled face limply hanging over his, and he lets out a guffaw of a noise, terrified- a shriek of utter horror.

And then he’s upright, heart galloping in his chest, peering around the dim bedroom he had fallen asleep in to pass the time when Louis’ had sentenced to it.

He gasps for breath, presses a sweaty palm to his forehead and leans forward, letting out a long pent up breath. 

That had felt so familiar, so real. 

It had to be, he could remember the feel of her weight on his chest, the feel of her still hot blood painting his exposed skin.

His stomach threatened to bottom out, and decided that leaving his room might be the best option.

—-

Louis was pacing when Harry emerged from his room with an incredibly disheveled look on his face. The man looked at him, studied him with a brief expression of solace, but then he goes back to pacing, with his index finger pressed against his lip in extreme thought.

“What are you doing?” Harry inquires, rather chipper for the look on his face. 

“Thinking.” Louis replied without hesitation, nor glance up at him. 

And Harry is instantly making his way to the man, wrapping his arms around his waist to still him and presses his lips against the fleshy space beneath his right ear. Louis tenses, his brain still in overdrive. “About what?”

His voice awakes the need and desire to relieve whatever was eating at Louis. And he let out a little breath, leaning back into him. “Everything, really.” was all he could mutter out. 

“Mmm, want me to help?” He sighs against his skin, spinning the smaller man around to face him, and he grins down at him. But not wickedly- brokenly. As though he’s tormented by something, and the look in his eyes is dull, bloodshot and helpless. He looks exhausted. 

Louis can’t help it, the pity he feels, so he distracts himself by leaning up on his toes and plants his lips on Harry’s. 

The boy seems surprised, sighing through his nose before kissing him back feverishly, his hands winding up. They even dare to trace up the man’s neck, resting his thumbs right at the base of his throat. But Louis doesn’t tense up, and something about that makes Harry move them away, planting the grip into his hair. 

This reminds Louis of how Harry had wrapped his hands around his neck that night, had looked determined to leech the life straight from him. But he didn’t. 

And had he ever? He looked as though he hadn’t realized what he was doing until after he almost did.

These thoughts had stolen Louis’ focus for a few moments, enough for him to not realize Harry had lifted him up and sat him on the edge of the counter and was wedging his fingers into his pants that had been off just hours before. 

“Quickly.” Louis reprimanded, afraid that if he did anything too extravagant he would be bed ridden for a week. 

Harry looked up at him with that old wicked smile, before taking the man’s cock in his mouth and moaning filthily around him. Instantly, Louis’ stomach is engulfed in flame and he lets out a pitiful moan, finding purchase in his already mussed curls. 

“Fuck.” He breathes, not restraining himself from bucking his hips up into his mouth. The boy didn’t even gag, just looked up through tear brimmed eyes as he still sucked his length. 

Harry pulls himself off of his length, breathing heavily onto the leaking head and smiles wickedly, “I don’t think you’d care if I killed half of London, you’d still let me fuck you.” He chuckles out darkly, before engulfing him again. Louis lets out a whimper, throwing his head back against a cabinet, and squeezes his eyes shut.

It was remarks like this that kept Louis from totally abandoning the heinous thought of Harry doing all of those terrible things. That dark and sadistic humor that Harry obviously thrived off of.

Louis didn’t last much longer, had his back arched and toes curled with a exhausted shout as the boy swallowed the small amount of come he had leeched into his mouth. 

The man breathed in slowly, looking down at the boy who stood up fully with a cocky smile. 

The man could barely move, was so drained of everything, but decidedly slid from the counter and yanked up his pants with a grunt. Harry just grinned down at him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, obscenely.   
Louis was looking the boy over, when something caught his eye. He narrowed his gaze, and stepped closer to him, raising his hand.  
“What is this?” He inquired stiffly, amazed he had never noticed it before. He pulled down the collar of the scoop neck shirt Harry was wearing, and traced the scar that so suddenly stood out to him. It was long, and raised, and ran up from his rib-cage, right below his collar-bone. It was puckered, and thick, and the more Louis traced his thumb over it, the more he realized it had been something much more serious than Harry’s silence was letting on.   
He laughed loudly, suddenly, “What the hell do you think it is, Louis?” Louis jumped, his hand recoiling. He glanced up sheepishly at the boy, who’s brows were piqued in sarcastic interest.   
“Who did it to you?” He asked, quietly, as though if he lowered his voice it would take the edge out of such a question. Harry flinched, stepping back swiftly.  
His mouth opened, and closed- and Louis noticed that this was happening a lot now, “I…” he shook his head with a brute laugh, “I don’t remember.” He shrugged and sauntered into the living-room.   
With the sudden memory of Harry’s mother being deceased since he was ten drove chills up his spine, and he opened his mouth to question him, but stopped in his inhaling breath and clamped his mouth shut. There had to be a reason Harry was spinning a gigantic web of lies for Louis to crawl right into and be trapped, or was missing a gigantic chunk of reality.   
But either way, he didn’t want to confront him about it yet.  
An idea sparked as he stood there, idle in thought. When Harry snapped in front of his face, the man blinked several times and glanced up at the boy who looked annoyed.   
He was saying something irrelevant, so Louis just interrupted, “We’re going to your mum’s.” He said determinedly. Harry’s face contorted one from anger of being cut off, into one of shock.   
Louis turned on his heel, shoving his feet into his rainboots, shrugging his woolly trench coat on; which he couldn’t refrain from looking in the mirror to roll his eyes at how ‘Sherlock’ he looked. He glanced back at Harry as he tied the cinch around his waist, “And you’re going to help me find those bodies. Go get a coat.”   
—-  
It was 2 pm when they left, and due to the onslaught of heavy snow, it took them twice as long to maneuver the black ice roads. The drive was tense, and Louis was white-knuckling the steering wheel the entire time his tires squealed out underneath them around a sharp, country road curve. Harry was surprisingly silent the whole entire drive, just staring out the window with a dazed look on his face.   
Louis would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, his whole body trembled with anxiety of what to do if they actually did find the bodies. And how many was there going to be if so?   
He feigned from getting sick, and when the GPS chirped out that the destination was on their left, he was sure he was going to be sick.   
Considering the only other house on the road was a dilapidated mobile home on the crown of a hill to the right, they parked in the overgrown drive of Harry’s old house. 

The house itself looked something from a horror film, sitting at the center of a gigantic, open field that was blanketed in a stark white snow. It stuck out like a sore-thumb, dark wood-paneling that looked grown over with every type of weed and moss, a small and sparse looking tree had grown up the side and had started the process of pushing the roof off. 

Louis clambered out of the car carefully, making sure not to slip on the icy gravel. Harry was silent as he crawled out, his face in a grave expression. His eyes trailed to the back of the property, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he glanced at the house that was obviously empty.   
“Where is everyone?” He almost muttered to himself, but Louis walked up next to him, the snow and ice beneath his boots squeaking.  
“Perhaps they moved?” Louis lied through his teeth, pricking an eyebrow to try and shroud what a gigantic understatement that was. Harry heard his voice tremble in the slightest and glanced over at him with a confused but frustrated look. He didn’t question it though, and began walking to the back of the property.   
Louis was hesitant to follow, and cupped the flashlight he had brought along in his hand. The day was already sufficiently dark, and with the sun somewhere behind the clouds going down, it was growing darker by the minute.   
Ahead, besides Harry’s lean figure tromping through the snow, was a long line of tree’s, all eerily close together and impeccably tall.   
Halfway through the field, Louis clicked on the flashlight and held it’s feeble beam on the ground as to assure him. He was trembling from the very marrow of his bones. Harry turned to look over his shoulder with that wicked grin, “Hope you brought a shovel.”   
Louis didn’t hide his pitiful moan, and he cast his eyes down after seeing Harry’s arrogant expression turn to one of confusion. He kept torturing himself with the heinous thought of finding a mass burial of bodies, and had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out again.   
When they stepped into the forest, where the snow was much lighter, a feeling of dread washed over him. It was several times darker in the cover of the tall trees, and an overwhelming sense of someone watching them held close to Louis’ skin.   
It was quiet, quiet besides the crunch of the frozen pine needles beneath their feet and the sound of Harry’s rather labored breathing. The dim beam of light flooding from the flashlight was only enough to illuminate a few feet ahead and Louis decided to sheepishly bound ahead to walk closer behind the boy.   
The land started to slope down, and large carnivorous looking rocks were unearthed and speared threateningly at them as they clambered down.   
As they took a stumbling stop at the bottom of a ravine, Harry tensed and glanced around, his breath hanging in front of his mouth. With the intense silence, Louis instinctively reached out for the boy and clutched onto his arm. The irony of the fact that he was helplessly holding on to the boy that potentially killed more than seven people on their search for more of the bodies was almost enough to make him let go.  
But when Harry again started to walk, he clutched onto him. They took a sharp left, and wound around the close knit tree’s, stumbling about in the dark.  
“Fuck,” Harry cursed, “I know they’re here.” He paused in front of gaping abyss, rocky and deadly looking, as though it was the pit into hell. Louis hesitantly cast the light down into the hole.   
All that littered the floor were snow covered leaves and bramble bushes, and Louis should have been relieved, but Harry was heaving out mortified breaths. He tore his arm away from the man and sauntered a few steps away, holding his face in his hands as he muttered under his breath.   
“They’re around here somewhere. I,” he looked up, glancing around the trees that seemed to silently stare down at them, “I know it.. they have to be.” He leaped forth, nearly sprinting through the tree’s, and Louis, with a panicked breath, followed after him. His knee’s trembled and the beam of the flashlight danced ahead, barely able to catch the heels of Harry’s shoes.   
“Harry!” Louis bleated helplessly, “Harry slow down! Wait!” He called, thankful to notice the boy veered a sharp right, following after him. With more pleas though, the boy didn’t slow.   
They ran for sometime, taking violent twists and turns among the trees, stumbling across little burbling streams, spooking an owl. But he certainly was beginning to feel sicker when Harry came to a sudden stop, and Louis ran directly into him with a shout.  
Harry, who had stopped because the edge of another pit threatened him to. But with Louis’ full force barreling into him, his feet slipped out from underneath him and they both fell with a thud, rolling over stones and roots, their exposed skin being marred by brambles.   
Louis came to a stop, laying disheveled on his back somewhat on top of the boy. With the quiet seeping in besides their heavy breathing, chills rose upon the man’s skin and he reached out for something to help him up. His hand latched onto a root, and he tugged on it to haul himself up. But the root came loose in his hand and he clumsily shown the light on it.  
However, the root that he held in his hand was long and slender, and impeccably white. Louis let out a horrified scream, his hand spasming open. It was a bone.   
Louis scrambled to his feet, his head feeling incredibly light as he shakily swept the grounds with light, his pulse echoing in his ears. Harry slowly climbed to his feet to look down as well, but shook his head abruptly.  
A skeleton no doubt laid before them.  
But it was the skeleton of a long dead deer.   
Louis’ trembling hands were cupped over his mouth, his breath stuttering in his chest. He felt so light headed he was positive he would pass out. Harry made a pitiful noise of confusion, leaning down to pick up the deer’s skull, studying it as though he expected it to transform into that of a human’s.   
“H-Harry, please, let’s just go.” Louis whispered urgently, his teeth chattering loudly. The boy shook his head over and over.  
“I could have sworn they were here, Louis. I could have sworn I… I dumped the bodies here.” He whispered brokenly, dropping the skull, one of it’s antlers cracking off.   
A distant crack of a branch had Louis nearly sobbing, whipping around to illuminate whatever it could have been. “Harry you must have had lapses in thought and memory, now come on please let’s just get out of here.”   
When he turned around to once again urge the boy, he was gone. Harry was gone. Louis’ heart jumped into his throat and he stumbled backwards against the muddy wall of the pit. “Harry!” he cried out in absolute terror.   
His chest rose in erratic and panicked breaths, clutching the flashlight even harder, as though his grip would enforce the light to pan out and fill the whole forest with light. More rustling from behind, up in the trees, the crack of a branch.  
And then someone’s hands were on his shoulders, and he let out a full blown, horrified scream. They were from above, and they were hauling him up. His legs thrashed out to no avail, and he twisted in their grip.   
“Shhh,” a voice from behind reprimanded, “Jesus Christ calm the fuck down.” Harry’s voice warned quietly into his ear, and instantly Louis felt his knees threaten to buckle underneath him.   
Harry tugged at his arm to get him to follow him, “Now come on.”


	7. Part Seven

Louis slammed his back up against the door as soon as they made it home, as though he was keeping out some monster. He glanced over at the boy, who had an exhausted look on his face, he glanced over at the man who was pale as a sheet. 

“You okay, Louis?” Harry dryly chuckled, Louis shot him a weak glare. He was still trembling. 

“What do you think, Harry?” He snapped, shuffling to the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine. He seriously needed some alcohol. He poured himself a liberal glass, palming it and taking one large gulp, which made his eyes water. 

Harry was in front of him, gazing down at him with a glassy stare. A distant smile was on his lips, “Alcohol won’t help, trust me.” Although he tried to sound arrogant, Louis could pick out the uncomfortable feeling that alcohol brought the boy. 

That sparked an idea; a gruesome idea that not many psychiatrists or therapists used anymore, but it could give quite the substantial results. 

Although they hadn’t found the “bodies” Harry was so positive he had placed in the forest behind his old home, Louis had a gut feeling there was something much more tied to that incredibly intelligent brain of his. 

With the slight buzz of alcohol in his system, he set the glass on the counter and pushed past the boy. In his room, he ripped open his sock drawer, rummaging his hand around in its depths before he found the other little cartridge at the back that Harry hadn’t found earlier.

He palmed it and stepped back out into the living area, Harry, who was staring at him with keen curiosity. When his eyes settled on what was in the man’s hands, his brows furrowed and a dark expression consumed his face. 

Louis recalled just that morning- and mentally he almost collapsed- today had been so incredibly long. That morning, when Harry had smelt the smoke, he had an immense emotional reaction, which even for Harry was unusual. 

Little triggers like that were good at bringing out past memories. 

“Harry,” Louis said in a wavering, but fairly determined tone, “Come here.” 

The boy snickered darkly, “What the fuck are you going to do to me, Louis?” 

He winced, “Come here.” He tried to make himself more bold, but felt his heart race slightly faster. Harry rolled his eyes, but finally obeyed and sauntered over to the man. 

With much coaxing and frustration, Louis had the boy restrained in a chair in his room. The boy writhed before him, making frustrated noises and twisting his wrists against the ropes. Harry threw an absolute death glare at the man who closed the door, glancing brokenly at him. A pang of guilt chilled his veins as he sat in the chair opposite to the boy. 

“Fuck you.” Harry spat, his muscles tense and eyes wide with loathing. Louis gulped. 

“Harry, please, calm down.” He somehow captured his even voice, the one he used when talking to patients. Harry didn’t, he just let out a low groan, banging his feet against the floor in frustration. 

“Harry,” he chastised quietly, “I need you to be calm for this.” He stood up from his chair, placing his hands on either sides of the boy’s chair, leering over him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. From his forehead, he lightly placed kisses down his temples, to his jaw and to the base of his ear. “Shhh.” 

Harry finally relaxed, closing his eyes and let out a long, broken sigh. “Breathe in, breathe out.” Louis chanted quietly, soothingly, tracing his fingers along the boy’s cheeks before stepping back and sitting down in his chair. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Louis listening to his slowly steadying breath, and Harry sat, finally perfectly relaxed, eyes closed, and almost asleep, when Louis drew a cigarette from the pack. 

He placed it limply between his lips and lit up, the zip of the lighter enough to grab Harry’s attention. Louis inhaled the smoke deeply, before blowing it out wistfully. 

If Harry hadn’t been relaxed as he was, he would have torn from his binding in rage, but he just stared blearily at the smoke curling around the man’s face. He made a low, whining noise. 

Louis ignored the pliant, pitiful moans coming from the boy, who looked as though he were about to cry. A muscle in his jaw twitched and lips trembled as he inhaled deeply through his nose. Louis stared at him, leaning forth on his thighs and rolling the cigarette between his teeth, ashing it on the leg of the chair carelessly. 

He cleared his throat, wrinkling his nose quickly, as he was not used to smoking more than one a day. The smoke now ran gray wrinkles in the room, slowly drifting and swirling in elaborate patterns. 

Louis shifted again, “So, Harry,” he sighed, “tell me why it is you hate the smell of smoke so much?” His voice didn’t falter, was easy and as caring as a question of that matter could be formatted. 

A crease in Harry’s brow formed, and he absently yanked on his wrist constraints, clenching his jaw shut. Louis waited patiently, holding a fiery stare with the boy, but when it was apparent Harry had no intentions of telling- or couldn’t remember- he leaned down, plucked another cigarette from it’s pack and lit up.

This caused much distress to the boy, and he tensed even more. Louis made more of a point to blow the smoke harshly in his direction. Harry coughed, his eyes alighting with something beyond Louis’ knowledge. 

“Fucking quit it.” Harry hellishly growled, his fingers clawing at the armrests he was bound to. The tendons in his neck tensed and sweat began to grab a hold of the back of his shirt. 

Louis ignored him, “Is it what you paired with alcohol, Harry, smoked yourself out after you killed someone?”

“No.” Harry barked out between gritted teeth, a helpless fury overtaking his features in a trembling rage. 

“Then what was it?” Louis pressed in an even tone, something extremely unnerving to people like Harry. 

The boy glared up at him as he stood from his chair, stepping closer to him. His breath was labored, chest rising and falling erratically. 

Louis so much as dared to lean down face level with him, take one long drag and blow the smoke directly in his face. Harry recoiled as much as he could, spluttering out curses, shaking his head desperately.

He felt bad, but at the same time, he really didn’t. Harry had put him through absolute hell- for god’s sake he was helping him by doing this.

Louis crouched on his haunches in front of the boy, balancing himself by resting his hands on the boy’s trembling knees, flicking the ash absently. 

He stared at him, studying his twisted features as he trembled, before a wicked smile- not a real one- played up on the man’s lips, “It’s your daddy isn’t it?” His voice took on one of teasing, one that would cause more of a reaction 

Something changed in Harry’s face, it was as though his face dropped of all emotion but his eyes now turned to Louis’ glassy and wide, he was gasping for breath still.

He certainly hit a nerve there, and he had to play off of that. 

“Don’t call him that.” Harry said tensely, twisting his hands again. 

He ignored him again, “Did your Daddy love you, Harry?” 

Harry flinched, a confused look crossing his face, “He left when I was 10, of course not.” His voice was rough from trying to withhold tears. 

“Then who took you to therapy?” 

It grew dead silent, Harry’s expression changed and his mouth hung open, eyes swimming and bottom lip trembling. 

He suddenly leaned forth, writhing and waling loudly, “I don’t know, Louis I don’t know!” He spluttered, jerking in the chair so wildly, the man shrunk back in his chair. “It’s like there’s a cloud in there, I try to remember things but it’s gone!” 

His lips were wet and red, his nose was running and cheeks were stained with the constant tears from this serious emotional dam. Louis had to keep this gate open, he leaped up from his chair, leaning down until his nose was almost brushing against Harry’s. 

“What was your therapist’s name, Harry?” He questioned urgently, his voice raised to be heard of the boy’s waling. 

Harry jerked one final time against his constraints, giving out a pathetic and gut wrenching moan, shaking his head over and over, “Miranda,” he spluttered out forcefully, as though he was hesitant on that- unsure. 

“Miranda, Miranda. What’s her last name?” He pressured as Harry continually shook his head, as though that would help him remember. 

“Miranda.. Miranda?” He repeated helplessly, his weary frustration had his legs trembling and fingers twisting, “Miranda Smith?” And just by saying her full name, Harry’s back straightened as though the devil had possessed him and he let out horrid caw. 

“Miranda Smith, the cunt that.. that smoked in that stupid fucking shit hole.. I’d.. I’d pass out because I couldn’t breathe…” he seethed, his eyes squeezing shut with a wretched sob.

Miranda Smith. 

Being one of the head Psychiatrists in London, Louis would usually recognize other Therapist’s names from meetings and clinics, but that name rang no bells. But that was all he had the heart to do to Harry today, and just sat slowly back down on his chair.

Harry was collapsed back against his seat crying, sobbing now. No matter how much Louis’ wanted to console him, he had to let that emotional baggage sift off. 

So he sat and silently waited for Harry to at least slightly gather himself. But after 30 minutes of his crying not seizing, and his anxiety becoming present as he would let out horrified cries and try to wrench his hands up, Louis stood up, and undid the ropes around his wrists. 

“Come here.” He cooed quietly, biting back tears himself as the boy reached up like a little kid and wrapped his arms around his neck, his face beat red from his extensive sobbing. Louis helped him up out of his chair, and probably would have carried him if the boy wasn’t so much taller than he was. 

Instead, he lead him out into the hall where a waft of fresh air greeted them, and down into the living area. Louis sat on the couch and guided Harry to lay down with his head in his lap. 

The boy continued to sob into his lap, and Louis couldn’t help but cry too. Even though this boy had made his life a living hell, he hated to see him like this. 

He soothingly rubbed his back with his right hand and ran his other through his curls, humming sweetly and quietly until his sobs quieted to little whimpering cries. 

Louis leaned down and pressed a long kiss to the side of his head, lifting up slowly and quietly breathing a sigh when Harry finally fell silent besides subtle sniffles. 

He continued to rub his back and wiped away his tears, studying his features that were so youthful when swollen from crying. 

He didn’t know how long they sat there together, he even felt sleep trying to pull his eyes closed. Harry had fallen asleep, as he was making sweet little breathy snores.

Louis felt something in his stomach clench as he once again looked over his face that now looked peaceful as he slept. 

He didn’t know what it was, the unusual fluttering sensation that suddenly engulfed him and made his toes curl, but he knew it was something substantial. 

He stared at the boy so long he probably could have painted it in perfect clarity just from memory, and when he felt his legs falling asleep, he shifted to put his feet up on the coffee table. 

Harry stirred in his sleep, his eyes blearily opening, blinking away sleep. His eyes were puffy and red, but he rolled onto his back slowly, staring at the man. 

They didn’t say anything, just stared at one another for what felt like a long time- conveying things just through this long look that made Louis’ toes curl again and he wasn’t sure if that was a good reaction or not. 

When he looked as though he were about to drift off again, his swollen lips parted with a little breath and his heavily lidded eyes turned back up to Louis’. He croaked out something, barely audible, but Louis heard them as though they were screamed into his ear before the boy closed his eyes. 

“I love you.”


	8. Part Eight

Waking up and not knowing instantly where he was was becoming a normal thing for Louis, so when he rolled onto his side and blinked awake, noticing he was still on the couch after much confusion, he just groaned. He sent a long glance up at the wall clock that read 7 am and glanced down at the rest of his body which was covered in a blanket and pressed up against something impeccably warm.

That was when last night slapped him in the face and he stiffened, as though he were trying to decide on whether it had all been an elaborate dream, but when he glanced over his shoulder to see Harry Styles was the impeccably warm ‘something’ he nearly lost it. 

He was nestled right up against him on the already narrow couch, and although the boy was still sound asleep with little snores echoing from his open mouth, he felt unnerved. 

He thought momentarily on the memory session that had proved effective but fatal in emotional stability. 

And then he remembered those final words that had left him in a swimming awe for at least two hours before he passed out in an upright position with Harry still asleep in his lap. 

Just the thought of those words coming from the boy with his lanky arms wrapped around his waist now were enough to make his toes curl and stomach to knot. The flat was silent besides the distant and steady tick of the clock, the hum of the fridge, and Harry’s sweet snoring in his ear. 

Louis cringed.

Terming anything coming from the boy swaddling him ‘sweet’ seemed wrong and foreign. After everything they’d been through- he stiffly wondered exactly why he had taken Harry in. He was a massive burden, and just thinking about it again made him wonder how long exactly he could keep this up. How long would Harry live under his roof and continually and emotionally confuse him. 

Yet something about the thought of Harry not being here with him unnerved him even more than having him here. 

It made him sick to his stomach to think he was actually, and almost dependent on someone who could have potentially robbed 7 plus people and children of their lives. 

And how easily accessed he was to Louis’ pulse in such ‘innocent’ moments such as these. 

He again thought of that fateful night, and found himself touching back those 2 years more and more.

Harry had plenty of motive to kill Louis (with him being the only person he had ‘truthfully’ abided his ‘guiltyness’ in), yet he hadn’t. 

Because he loves you. 

His subconscious snarkily reminds him and again his stomach twists. As ‘unsimple’ as a thing that was, it seemed pale in comparison to the fact that perhaps there was, quite obviously, a whole mantra of memories and lies plaguing Harry of his true past, and everyone of the true closure they had been robbed of all of these years. 

Louis glanced up at the clock again, letting out a little groan when he realized he had been laying here in Harry’s arms, thinking, for 45 minutes. 

The boy stirred behind him, letting out a little breathy groan, and Louis instantly tensed for an unknown reason. 

“Goodmornin-” Louis whispered, before being abruptly cut off by a loud guffaw of horror. 

He was shoved onto the floor with a loud thud, and instantly fear ran through his veins. He glanced up at Harry, who was now rod straight and seething, confusion causing his eyes to have a glassy appearance. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He roared, leering down quickly and hauling the man up by the collar of his shirt. Louis recoiled in confusion as well, his eyebrows knitting and mouth hanging wide open. 

“W-what are you talking about, Harry? It’s me, Louis.” He babbled quickly, his voice taking on a panicked octave as Harry stood and took him along. 

Harry shook his head over and over, momentarily releasing his shirt, “I don’t fucking know you, where the fuck am I?” 

It occurred to Louis that Harry, after last night’s emotional overload, had lapsed in memory, and he screamed just that at him desperately as he skittered away, being tailed after in the boy’s blind, confused rage.

He didn’t listen.

Louis was slammed up against the wall, Harry looming over him, fuming and pupils blown out, “How did I get here?” He tightened his grip, pushing him up further against the wall.

“H-Harry,” he stuttered pathetically, “Listen to me, you’re having a-a lapse in memory. I’m your psychiatrist, you’re at my house-“

“You’re lying!” He screamed back, his face lingering incredibly close to Louis’. “Where’s my mother?” 

Louis’ heart sank, and a little squeak erupted from him as Harry’s hands wrapped around his neck, “Harry,” he wheezed, squirming against his grip, “Please, shh baby.” He cooed, a dazed expression passed the boy’s face, and the scowl on his face fell for a moment, before being regained in fervor and he tightened his grip on his neck.

In this moment, one of Louis’ free hands flailed out to the side to take a hold of the metal vase and swinging it into the back of Harry’s skull. 

The metallic clang rang about the hall, and Harry’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as his knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor. 

Louis gasped for breath as silence surrounded them, and he stared down at the boy in a heap before him.

For a terrifying moment, he thought he had killed him, and his heart leapt into his throat. But on further inspection, his pulse was sluggishly chugging away- just unconscious- and would most likely be that way for a while. 

So Louis mentally patted himself on the back for his quick thinking, and for the fact he had been working out, because even though Harry was as spindly as a bean pole, he weighed a lot. He drug him into his bedroom, grunting as he hauled him up onto the bed, and placing his head on a pillow, kissing his forehead. 

He decided that locking him in his room would be the best decision, and did just that, leaning back on it with a sigh, closing his eyes and idly rubbing the back of his neck, which was sore already. 

He stood there for sometime, not thinking about anything in particular, just reveling in the momentary peace. 

It was this ‘not thinking about anything in particular’ that had Miranda Smith’s name show up in his thought train. 

His eyes opened reflexively, and he shuffled back to the couch, sitting and pulling up his laptop, tentatively opening up a new tab. He held his breath as he searched ‘Miranda Smith, Therapist, London.’ 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but sure enough, 3rd link down was a hit. He clicked on it, and was greeted with a webpage with overly soothing Enya music on autoplay and deep brown page interior. A picture of what he assumed was her was at the top left corner. Louis didn’t deny that she was in-fact beautiful, adorned in pale blonde hair that made her already colorless skin look near corpse like. She had a cynical smile, and dark brown eyes that were heavily lidded in a look of superiority. 

Unnerved by just her picture, Louis clicked on her biography, reading slowly- as though if he rushed through it he would miss something.

The whole page was filled with overly used adjectives about her aid to stability, and how her facility was the most ‘family oriented’ in London. She had apparently been a therapist for 14 years. 

As legitimate as she seemed, Louis kept thinking about what Harry had sobbed to him the night before, and stiffened just at the thought.

He glanced back up at her photo, which was paired with a mobile number and an address. He took a deep breath, rereading the address until he pinpointed exactly why he already knew it. 

Her office was in the building he interned at 6 years ago. 

Chills ran up his spine and he glanced back up at the time, seeing as it was only 8. 

On a rather simple impulse, he stood up and closed his laptop, striding to the front door and pulling on his coat and leather loafers. He knew leaving Harry here alone and disoriented wasn’t the best of plans, but he had to leave while he had the chance. So there were no questions as to where he was going when he stepped out onto the icy porch.

—-

 

It didn’t take much thought to remember how to get to Miranda’s office, considering he drove to the building every day for a year. When he parked at the back of the massive lot, an unwelcome bout of painful nostalgia from his days here greeted him. Except, it wasn’t really nostalgia, just annoying little memories of early morning coffee runs for his boss and greeting frazzled patients at the door. 

The building was four stories, and all four were rented out and divided four different ways to different medical firms, ranging from physical therapy to clinical psychiatry. 

The full fledged memories hadn’t hit the man until he walked through the entrance and was greeted by distasteful green wallpaper and stuffy gray carpet. A woman sat behind her desk, staring idly at her phone until Louis cleared his throat.

She smiled through her flushing cheeks and pushed her ashy hair behind her ear, “Sorry,” she ducked her head, “Can I help you?”

He sauntered up to the desk, leaning his forearms on it and sighing with distaste as he looked around around the reception room. “May I speak with Dr. Smith?” 

She tutted out gently, “You mean Dr. Sutherland?” she smiled bashfully, “She just got married last month, I guess we haven’t updated her website quite yet.”

“Oh, well, Dr. Sutherland. May I see her?” He didn’t refrain from hiding the annoyance in his voice. 

The receptionist gave a disdain smile, “She’s with a patient at the moment, do you have an appointment?” 

Louis rolled his eyes, appointments were such a hassle- but perhaps he was out of touch with that line of work- he was used to his patients coming to him on a regular schedule or when they needed to. “No, but it’s a rather important matter.”

She gave a tight smile, “Well you can make an appointment for next week-” She was interrupted by the door just down the hall opening and a tall man with hunched shoulders lumbering out followed by no other than Miranda herself. 

She was rattling off instructions to the man who was obviously not listening, his eyes were down cast accompanied by heavy bags under them and muscles in his jaw twitching as a sign of agitation. 

Her voice itself was low, and trim, and certainly unnerving to some degree- like that one teacher you had when you were young that would reprimand you all the time and you grew to hate the sound of her voice. 

Louis already grew a firm distaste for her, and when her dark eyes turned to him, she gave him an unbearably fake smile, “Good morning, are you Jake Urban?” 

Louis’ brows furrowed, “Uh.. no,” he cleared his throat, “I’m Dr. Tomlinson from Violet Quarters, I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment?” 

At the mention of Violet Quarters, one of her brows instantly pricked up in interest, and she glanced back at the receptionist. “Has Jake checked in yet?” She questioned rather coolly. 

The girl glanced at the roster on the desk, shaking her head in the negative after a moment, “No ma’am. He’s scheduled for 10.” 

Miranda primly smiled before turning on her heel, “Come and speak with me then, Dr. Tomlinson.” 

Louis obeyed, although the woman seemed too overbearing to him and the perfume she wore was so strong she left a trail of citrus peach behind her. 

In her office, Louis sat on a very obviously worn couch. The room itself was quite small as he remembered most of them to be. Its walls were a stone gray and the only other thing in the room besides the couch was another chair and a crisp looking peace lily. 

Miranda sat in her chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands onto her knees in a very proper position. “So you’re from Violet Quarters?” She grinned wolfishly, her eyebrows piquing. 

Louis only nodded, glancing about the room for any apparent signs that this woman was actually Harry’s old therapist. It was too far a shot that she wasn’t- what were the chances he would say a random name and her happen to be a therapist in London?

The room was significantly smoke free, so he let out a long exhale and shifted in his seat. “Have you always worked from here?” He inquired suddenly. 

She didn’t seemed phased by the question, “No, I had my patients come to my home for quite some time. I’ve rented out this place for about four years now.” 

Louis absently nodded, inhaling deeply. “Dr. Sutherland, I’m here to talk about one of your prior patients. You’ve most likely heard about him since you treated him quite a few years back, his name is Harry Styles.”

At the name, the woman’s face flashed an emotion that was too quickly gone for Louis to decipher. Her lips twitched up into a confused and almost rueful smile, “Oh yes, I remember Harry. Found guilty of all those murders and rapes 2 years ago,” she tutted, “Not surprising really.” 

He leaned forward at her comment, smoothing the pants of his legs down in apprehension, “Not surprising? Why so?” He cleared his throat, “And excuse me, I’m looking further into his case, as he is residing with me and is extremely disturbed.”

She smiled disdainfully, glancing down at her hands, “Well Doctor Patient confidentially limits what I can tell you, Dr. Tomlinson,” she chirped almost condescendingly, “You should know that.” 

Louis didn’t say anything, just inwardly rolled his eyes; obviously he knew this. 

She sighed, “But yes, Harry was a very… troubled child. His father brought him to me after his mother… passed away. Very violent… he became very violent and was beginning to repress memories of his past that were greatly effecting his everyday life.” She shook her head, “We performed many treatments on him to try and open up those closed off parts of his memories.”

“Treatments?” He inquired carefully, feeling sick to his stomach for some reason, “Of what sort?”

She smiled wickedly, “Well, many doctors frown on it because of well… how effectively it works,” she rolled her eyes, “Thiopental Sodium is a creation from God.”

Louis couldn’t help but recoil. Thiopental Sodium, also commonly known as truth serum was extremely controversial in psychotherapy. He personally didn’t like the drug because it unrestricted the patient, forced it out of them in a lucid state. 

But Miranda was grinning like a cat, and Louis didn’t realize that the mood of the room had swung to something very dark. “Oh.” was all he could muster out. He laughed nervously.

“He became quite distant after the 3rd year he came to me and was in a daze the whole time.”

Maybe because you had him on sedatives all the time. 

 

Louis suppressed a scoff. “Well, Dr. Sutherland,” he glanced down at his watch, not even reading the time, all he wanted was an excuse to leave, “I must get going. Thank you for the information. It’s helped quite a bit.” He nodded, standing from the couch, followed quickly by Miranda, who extended her hand curtly. 

“Come by anytime Dr. Tomlinson. Maybe shoot me a referral at Violet Quarters.” She laughed loudly, as though she were joking, but Louis could easily tell she wasn’t. He shook her hand though, which was rougher and colder than he would’ve expected. 

He nodded again, turning on his heel for the door, when he stopped in his tracks. “One last question,” he turned to look back at her, “do you smoke?” 

Her brows furrowed and she let out a suppressed snicker, “What an odd question,” she shook her head, “no, never have, never will. How do you think I afford to have such a beautiful smile?” To prove it, she flashed a blindingly white smile, and Louis very slowly nodded.

“Well thank you again, Dr. Sutherland.” He turned for the door and quickly powered out onto the sidewalk holding his breath. 

Louis shouldn’t be questioning her, shouldn’t be suspicious of something that his psycho roommate was blubbering to him. But there was something in the back of his mind that just nagged at him, and what it was, was not clear to him at all.


	9. Part Nine

Louis was overwhelmed.He felt as though he was standing at the edge of a very large abyss, one that was going to change his life more than it already had, and he really realized this as he was driving home from Miranda’s. 

What first was realization, became shock, then panic, and he had to pull aside of the road to keep from veering off into the moors. No one was on this road- it was a back one hardly used anymore- so he leaned his head on the steering wheel and began to cry. 

He cringed at the thought of how sensitive he had become since Harry had come into his life, and how often he found himself crying now. He pressed his palms against his wet eyes, trying to leech them of their painful stinging. 

He leaned back in his seat and hefted a long sigh, staring at the rather winding road that slithered out below him in the snowed over moors. It was a rather barren, sad sight, but looking at it seemed to calm his nerves, and with one more long breath, he drove back onto it, blinking away his tears. 

—-

Louis pushed through the front door with chattering teeth- as the snow turned to sleet and even a prick of the liquid was sent straight to your bones. 

He pushed his feet from his loafers and shrugged off his jacket before he actually heard anything. There was a desperate and angry banging emanating from somewhere in the flat. 

He stood still for a moment, before he registered that he had left with Harry locked in his room. He guiltily swallowed, and hesitantly sauntered down the hall to his room, the door jumping.

Louis was surprised Harry hadn’t broken it down, so in compliance of feeling bad, he unlocked the door and before he could actually open it himself, it swung open and out came a very flustered and frustrated boy. 

And just like that, Louis was shoved up against the wall with the boy breathing heatedly in his face and down his neck, “Where were you?” He spat bitterly. 

Louis squirmed against him, not in the mood for his antics, “Piss off.” He didn’t refrain from having the nasty tinge to it, because he just had too much on his mind. 

Harry softened his grip on his biceps a bit and leaned back to look him in the eyes, narrowing his own and furrowing his brow. “Are you okay?” he muttered. 

It was obvious that he had re-relapsed after waking up, which was reassuring, and just seeing the boy actual look like he momentarily had a caring bone in his body; Louis became putty in his hands. As soon as Harry sensed the change, he dove in. 

He pressed the man up against the wall before he had an answer, and the pressure used wasn’t as forceful as it would have been a week ago. He pressed a kiss under his jaw, up under his ear and then to his lips. By the time Harry reached there, Louis was so eager and pliant he instantly parted his lips and engaged in a deep, and incredibly heated kiss. 

Harry certainly wasn’t used to Louis being so obedient, but he decided he would take full advantage of it and pressed against him harder, letting his large hands trail down his arms and up his sides. 

And he didn’t waste time hauling him down the hall to the living room grinning snidely. For a moment he paused, glancing about the room, and Louis almost laughed, watching him chose the place he was going to fuck him into oblivion. 

Louis would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised when Harry took him and hauled him to the coffee table, which was promptly cleared of the magazines scattered on it. 

“Hands and knees.” Harry ordered, and Louis complied, still in his clothes, climbing onto the table and looking over his shoulder. Harry gave him a wolfish grin and slapped a hand down abruptly onto the man’s ass, making him jump. 

“Fuck Harry, what was that for?” He breathed out through gritted teeth, but the stinging instantly had a wave of heat pushing to his cock. 

Harry sent another slap down on the other cheek, and Louis bit into his own bicep to muffle his moan. “For locking me up in my room and leaving me.” Slap. 

 

Louis had no counter, and instead just moaned loudly, “I’m sorry.” He whispered, lowering from his hands down to his elbows so his ass was in the air. 

Harry sent another hard smack down, “What did you say?” 

“I’m sorry.” He groaned out, louder this time.


	10. Part Ten

“Good morning.”

It’s so soft, pressed warmly against his ear that Louis almost doesn’t hear it. But when his subconscious awakens, he smiles gently, wearily, and slowly rolls over to face the boy who’s long arms were wrapped around him. 

“Good morning,” he croaked out, yawning drowsily as he opened his eyes to be face to face with Harry. His green eyes heavily lidded and curls a mess, pillow lines traced across his milky cheek. 

Louis smiles fondly, reaching up to tousle his curls and lean forward for a chaste kiss on the lips. “What are you making me for breakfast, curly?” 

Harry grins, shifting a bit so he’s leaning on his elbows before he takes a deep breath with the grin leaving his lips, “Can I ask you a favor, Louis?” He questions, completely ignoring the breakfast plea, and when Louis distantly nods, he continues, “Will you take me out to mum’s? There’s one last place I want to look.”

His voice is calm, thoughtful even, for how serious a question that was, and Louis instantly stiffens at the thought of returning to those woods. Facing old Harry, facing a fear that could potentially ruin things finally being normal. 

Louis opens his mouth to tell him no, that he couldn’t risk the boy’s finally stabilizing mental health for a maybe. 

But then he thinks, saying no will do nothing in favor to the boy, he needed closure. Harry couldn’t have murdered more people at such a young age.

“Okay.” He nods idly, his voice breaking in the subconscious fear of finding a mass burial. His stomach twists at that thought as he slowly pulls himself from the silk sheets and Harry’s arms.

The boy follows in suit, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, and Louis watches from the corner of his eye, wondering exactly he’d do without him. Light from the window filters in through the blinds, painting him in orange lines.

He looks up at the man as he’s buttoning his jeans, and soft shadows play across his cheeks as he smiles reassuringly and Louis feels his stomach clench, “Harry,” he starts, and the boy pricks a brow. 

He inhales deeply, staring at him, before shaking his head with a short smile, “Never mind,” he waves idly, “never mind. Let’s go.”

—-

The sun is shining and the sky is blue, the temperature is fair and the snow is only hiding in the darkest shadows now. Louis tries to enjoy this as they’re walking across the open field beside Harry’s old home, but the reality of the day is too heavy on his shoulders. 

Harry is a few paces ahead of him, and the looming trees are growing closer and he hopes, hopes and prays that there’s nothing. 

“Harry,” he calls, “We’re not going to find anything, right?” The boy turns to look over his shoulder, but he only solemnly smiles, a confusion in those green eyes of his. 

The birds chirp overhead as they walk silently through the forest, and Louis wonders if anyone informed them of the potential very bad news. 

Harry tucks his hands into his pockets and looks up at the canopy of bare branches and Louis’ thankful they came in the morning so he can see what is actually going on. 

They make it to the edge of the large drop off where he thinks they went left last time, and prepares himself for some sort of long hike, but Harry takes a right this time and walks diagonally down the muddy slope. They weave through trees and around boulders and everything from their journey weeks before is coming back and Louis really doesn’t want to do this anymore. 

“I can’t do this, Harry.” He croaks out, feeling ill as he stumbles to a pause next to a small stream. The boy pauses after he steps across it, looking back. His expression notably different than it had been an hour before. His eyes seemed darker, empty, and his cheeks seemed sunken in. Louis’ blood ran cold in his veins and his heart spasmed. 

The boy stares at him for a moment, before shaking his head, “Please, Louis. Please I have to.” His voice sounds distant and dark, something in him that the man hadn’t missed over the past few weeks. 

He doesn’t think he can say no, he’s too afraid really, and just nods, before stepping across the stream and following him again. 

The tree’s seemed farther apart now, but more rock formations jutted from the earth like unearthed fragments of monstrous bone. Harry was walking faster now, and Louis felt as though he might wretch onto the ground. 

He wasn’t prepared for this, but then again, when would he ever be?

He takes several deep breaths, rolls his neck and stretches his arms above his head to try and calm his galloping heart. Harry suddenly stops and waves out a hand to signal Louis to stop as well.

He doesn’t hold in the fearful little croak in his throat when he pulls to a stop behind the boy, before he turns sharply to the right up a steep slope. 

Louis sighs, starting to follow when he hears the distant snap of a twig. He whips around, his heart throbbing in his throat as the overwhelming sensation as though he’s being watched bores holes into the side of his head. 

But silence follows besides Harry hauling himself up the slope, so he hesitantly turns and clambers up behind him. He’s hunched over, leaning down to dig his fingers into the soil to help pull himself up. 

He doesn’t look up until he hears a mortified whimper.

Louis can’t recall a time he’s felt his stomach drop so fast. 

He glances up with a tight grip on a root to see a giant rock jutting from the top of the hill, supported by two other boulders in the formation of a shallow cave. The opening though was narrow, probably only a foot and a half, and it was shrouded in glistening spider webs and vines. Harry was standing at the mouth of it, a hand resting on the rough stone, his head bowed and bottom lip trembling. He was drained of color. 

“Harry..” Louis says carefully, his limbs frozen, “Harry.. please.. please God don’t.. it can’t be.” He whimpers, his voice breaking when he sees Harry’s crying. 

And Louis curses himself a thousand times over because it’s such a beautiful day, and the light is filtering through the trees casting angelic shadows over Harry, but he’s standing at the edge of something that’s about to snap the small amount of stability he had left. 

Louis scrambles up the rest of the slope to stand next to Harry, grips at his hand even though his own his covered in mud now. The boy looks blankly down at him, and he’s lost. He looks as though he’s never seen Louis before, and he shakes his head and looks down as his chin wrinkles with tears. 

“Let me go first, let me check.” Louis says, his voice wavering as he’s holding back a lot of different emotions. He squeezes the boy’s hand as though that will help the situation, before releasing it and sheepishly pulling at the vines barricading the way in.

When it’s open, a heavy dread falls on him and he doesn’t think he can do it. He swallows thickly, as though his tongue is cotton, before pushing through the opening, the rough stone grabbing onto his clothing as a warning; as though it’s trying to hold him back from going in. 

It’s dark, and Louis is only greeted with a palate of black and a musty smell. He’s so tense, and he doesn’t move again until he thinks his eyes have adjusted. He shuffles forward, and looks down.

Nothing, nothing. Leaves, nothing.

And then the mixture of a horrified scream and sob gets stuck in his throat and he’s forced to cover his mouth with his hand.

 

He smells it before he sees it. It sears his nostrils with the most rank, gut tossing smell and he can’t hold back the vomit he wretches onto the dank floor. The smell of human decay can be compared to nothing else. 

“Louis?” A voice calls out, distant, terrified, and muffled by the stone walls and dread.

But Louis can’t even open his mouth to form words, he’s staring at four, five, eight… ten bodies before him, all leaned up against the wall, some leaning on each other. It was like a timeline of human decay, some full skeletons, some with the tattered shreds of sunken flesh and frays of hair balding from their ashy skin, and one in particular; her skin still looked buoyant, and she was at the very end, her eyes sunken in, bruises still visible and blood caked and dried on her lips. She was no older than eight.

Louis shakes his head over and over until he was dizzy, and stumbled backwards, the overwhelming buzzing in the back of his skull, threatening to pull the plug and black him out. He’s sobbing before he even realizes it, and covering his eyes with his muddy palms, “No.. god no no no.” He chants, not even able to open his eyes as he fumbles for the opening and nearly falls out of it. 

“Harry!” He sobs, his voice coming out in abhorrence and pity. The boy doesn’t even look at him, because he’s looking at something else, something down at the base of the slope. 

Louis turns to look at whatever it is, and he scrambles backward, falling onto his back. Two police officers are standing there, waving up to them. “W-What are they doing here?” He nearly screams frantically, a panic taking over his system as his vision tunnels. 

He hears their voices, distant, friendly enough to confuse Louis.

“Hey! Lads!” One with a thick Irish accent yells, as they begin the ascent of the slope up to them. “Laddies, you can’t be here! No trespassing! Neighbors complainin’ and we have to come and get you.” He laughs, but Louis shakes his head over and over and looks up Harry, who’s expression is unreadable. 

He feels every step closer the police get, the more claustrophobic he becomes. The two men make it to them, and the Irish one rolls his eyes, grinning as though he’s sorry about the whole ordeal; until he looks at Harry. 

His facial expression changes entirely and his face drains of color, “Is that Harry Styles?” He asks at a whisper to his partner, who’s expression is the same as he nods. 

The officer’s eyes move down to Louis, who was still on the ground, trembling. 

The air is crackling with tension and Louis is just waiting for it. For his life to end. 

“Was he.. hurting you, sir?” The officer’s voice is stiff with disgust and horror, as though he’s holding back something. 

Louis can’t hold back the sob pent up in his throat, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head, “What?“ he shrieks, “God no—” but the man is already pushing past him to the opening of the cave, “please, no.” 

His partner raises a gun warily at Harry, and Louis has to cover his mouth now to try and muffle his sobs. 

The officer disappears into the opening, and Louis rolls onto his side with these sobs that he thinks might split his sides. Harry is still silent. 

But the officer isn’t. “Cuff them, Jefferson!” His voice wavers in horror as he stumbles out, “I’m calling in backup. There’s ten bodies in there, fuck. Fuck, Jefferson, ten of them.” 

Jefferson grabs a hold of Harry and aggressively rips his hands behind his back, “You sick fuck,” he spits, “they shouldn’t have ever let you out of prison.”

Louis’ stomach roils as he screams at the officer now hauling him up, “PLEASE!” He trembles and jerks against the Irish man now hauling him down the hill. 

And that’s when Harry starts to scream and wail and kick and twist. They’re already far away, a lingering figure among the trees and rocks. His screams echoing off them, and Louis shakes his head over and over again and again.

“LOUIS!” He screams, “LOUIS YOU CAN’T LET THEM TAKE ME AGAIN!” His voice breaks with his desperate sobs and it’s hard to make them out from the distance, “I DIDN’T DO IT I SWEAR, LOUIS I DIDN’T! PLEASE!”


	11. Part Eleven

Niall Horan has been in the LPD for 4 years, and he’d like to think he has authority. He likes to think that he’s done a lot of crime fighting and stopped tragedies from occurring, but in reality, he hasn’t. He hadn’t even faced something like this ever, in his life, and he’d like to think he wish he never had to in the first place.  
As soon as the two are loaded into the back of the cop car, Jefferson is driving off, and Niall is left standing on the side of the road to wait for the coroner, and the investigative services.

They arrive some ten minutes later, and the officer is trembling, clenching his teeth as he leads them through the forest to the cave where ten bodies lie, stiff and mutilated. He informs them on how he believes it’s the serial killer Harry Styles’ other victims.  
Somewhere distantly, as he watches mindlessly the scene be taped off, he hears the lowered chatter of disgust.  
He follows it and by some unknown force has enough guts to poke his head into the cave, the vile stench of rotting flesh is offensive, and he covers his nose with the crook of his elbow.  
There’s only one body left now, as the rest of the skeletons have been removed back to the coroner’s truck. A tall and slim women with black hair pulled back in a slick bun glances over at him. A solemn look is engraved into her irises, and she glances back down at the young girl. She’s leaned sideways against the cave wall, as though for support. Her eyes are closed peacefully in contrast to her bruised and beaten body. Her head is lolled at an awkward angle and Niall has seen at least enough movies to know her neck is snapped.  
Tears lean heavily at the backs of his eyes, “How old?” His voice wavers, as though he’s not really sure he wants to know.  
“Seven, probably.” The coroner says quietly, as she kneels down to study her bloodied scalp. The frays of hair left are matted down with dried blood and Niall is positive he’s going to be sick. “From the deterioration I’d say she’s been dead no longer than 2 years. I’ll have to get her back to the lab to see a more specific date…” her voice trails off as she stands again, shrugging her coat tighter around her.  
—-  
Louis is trembling, a whole body tremor that has even his teeth chattering. He’s sat in a small holding cell inside the LPD Station, and next to him in another cell is Harry.  
The boy’s breath is coming out in short tremors with his sobs, his hands gripped on the bars and head leaned between them. He’s whispering incoherent words, his face flushed with his tears, eyes squeezing shut with watery rims, his chin puckered from a scowl that looks like it might not ever leave his face.  
Louis doesn’t know what to feel, doesn’t know if he should trust him anymore, if he’s telling the truth. He’s past the point of numbness; in a lucid state where he feels like he’s out of his body, staring down at himself with a condescending look. You shouldn’t have ever taken him in. Biggest mistake of your life. 

He bows his head in his palms because he realizes it really is. 

He laughs wetly into his palm at the sudden realization of it all. 

Harry was a monster, he always will be, and he ruined his life. He was a schizophrenic child molester and murderer that couldn’t be fixed. The past three weeks had been a lie, had been a shroud of deceiving hope. Harry would never be a kindred soul, would never be a domestic husband. 

Louis’ heart nearly breaks in his chest, trying to suppress his broken sobs as he shakes his head trying to force those thoughts out of his head. 

Yet you still love him. His subconscious barks at him, laughs as though he’s never been more disappointed in himself. 

He can’t even look at the boy anymore without feeling this horrible engulfing sensation of guilt and pity, and he rubs his hand down his cheek to try and dry his overflowing eyes. 

“Louis,” his voice whimpers across the cell to him, boring holes into the man’s heart. He doesn’t look up, keeps his face in his palms, “Louis,” he cries desperately again, “I didn’t d-do it, I didn’t— you know me—” 

“No, I don’t. I don’t know you, Harry.” Louis says flatly, so flatly in fact that when he looks up from his palms, Harry’s face contorts into a neutral look of disbelief, his eyes watering with hurt, and Louis feels his chest tighten even more. 

Louis feels the abyss before him grow, and it’s whispering, taunting him, begging him to drop down into it.

He’s leering over the edge, peering into the oily blackness in his mind when another voice breaks the silence. An angry and frustrated voice. 

“For fuck’s sake Niall, you can’t arrest these people without a warrant. You’re lucky I’m not suspending you,” a short man squawks loudly as he makes his way to the holding cells, his face red, “You’re free to go. But that doesn’t mean you’re not going to be called in for questioning either.”

The secure sound of the bolt being unlocked on Louis’ cell is enough to bring him to his feet, and he catches the short man shooting a despairing look at Harry, his eyes gleaming with hatred as he unlocks his cell. 

—-

 

It’s three hours before Louis finally returns home, after having the police escort him back out to Harry’s mother’s for his car. He doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to walk through the door to face a monster.

So he sits in his car, staring out the windshield at the side of his flat until he’s counted 348 bricks. That’s enough, he thinks. 

When he enters the flat, he is faced with the sound of shattering glass and hysteric sobbing. He winces, standing wrought iron in the entry.

“They’ll be coming back soon, Doctor Tomlinson,” Harry screams, his voice strains with a mocking tone, an I told you so tone, “They’re coming for me.” 

Louis doesn’t say anything, instead, he just stares at the boy who fists a glass vase sitting on the counter, and hurls it across the room to smash into the wall next to the man’s head. He barely flinches before closing the door fully behind him. 

“Coming for me after everything I did, after I raped all of those people and murdered them, slaughtered them.” His voice is slurred and rushing together in a sort of manic noise, his hands trembling as they repeatedly slap the sides of his head and grip into his curls as he cries. Louis can tell he’s going into mental overdrive. 

He also realizes that he forgot to give him his medication this morning. 

Yet, he still stands there, staring at the boy who is pacing around the living room covered in little glimmers of shattered glass. Harry’s sobbing seizes with a choked noise as he rushes towards Louis, raising his hands above his head.

“Say something!” He roars, looming over him, his tear reddened face inches away from the man’s seemingly neutral expression. 

The air is hissing in tension, a fuse about to blow, as Louis stares at the boy glaring down at him with these watery eyes filled with confusion, and suddenly, he’s not afraid of him anymore.

So he shoves him as hard as he can, shoves him away from himself and he storms across the room, “You want me to say something Harry?” He yells, “You want me to say something? Well I’ll tell you something, you disgust me. You are a sick, untreatable schizophrenic who rapes children and murders them.” His voice comes out in a rush of fury and rage. 

Harry’s expression has changed entirely, to one of shock and disbelief.

And hurt. 

His eyes are wide, so wide you can see the white on all sides of his irises; and they’re pooling with tears. His swollen lips parted, eyebrows scrunched up as though he’s never heard anything more upsetting in his entire life.

“Lou—”

“—Yet I’m still in love with you,” Louis’ voice breaks with a tired sigh, “I’m trying to figure out exactly what it will take for me to not, and I- I shouldn’t.” He shouts, shaking his fists because he’s more frustrated than he ever has been in his entire life. 

Silence fills the room, and Louis can see Harry’s jugular pulsing erratically with that horrified look on his face.

And suddenly, all he wants to do is kiss him.

So he finishes the distance between them with three long steps and wraps his arms around his neck as their lips meet with a crash. Harry instantly softens against the man, who he wraps his long arms around, pulling him impossibly closer. 

He tastes like the salty tang of tears, and Louis finds himself crying as well, as their mouths open in a slow tangle of emotion, lust, and love. 

Louis idly realizes how enormous this all has gotten, how Harry was just once one of his patients at Violet Quarters. 

He decides that the universe works in very different, unusual ways. 

They are kissing so fiercely, that Louis is caught in some sort of trance when Harry pulls away gently, breathing heavily into his mouth, when he says the words he never expected. 

“Make love to me.”

A sob gets stuck in Louis’ throat as he leans up on his toes and kisses him, soft and slow. 

It’s soft and slow still, how Louis brings the boy to his room, all sweet kisses and gentle touches. And Harry is crying so hard through their lips that it breaks Louis’ heart over and over until he thinks it’s become dust in his chest. 

He’s straddling Harry on the bed now, pressing wet kisses down his neck, whispering incoherent nothings in between breaths as he helps the boy out of his clothes and proceeds to kiss him everywhere, starting from the base of his jaw, traveling down his torso, over his raised hipbones and down across his thighs.

Harry’s moans are wet and desperate, his eyebrows knitted together and eyes squeezed shut because he’s not used to being so exposed, so submissive. 

Louis leans back and studies the boy’s long, pale body in the dim light flooding in from the window. Studies the jagged scars from razors across his lower stomach and tops of his thighs. His eyes come to a rest on the long, thick puckered scar running from his collar bone down across his heart to the top of his ribs.

He reaches for it, tentatively, tracing it lightly before leaning down. He presses more kisses along it because he knows it was a ragged suicide attempt. A desperate attempt to escape whatever mess he was in. 

Louis leans up and disposes of his clothing as well, lowering himself to lay on top of the boy, commencing in their soft and slow kisses. His hands traveling up Harry’s sides, raising chills as he plants them loosely in his curls.

 

“Harry,” he says, as they take a breather, close to each other, their lips brushing, “I love you.” 

His voice is quiet, a whisper of utter care, as though those words are too fragile to say too loud, as though they might shatter. 

Harry’s face puckers with more tears as he leans his head up off the pillows to kiss him again. 

 

And when Louis is situated between Harry’s thighs, preparing the boy for an intrusion of his wrecked innocence. He’s cooing how much he loves him as he gently pushes into him, his hands traveling up and down the boy’s long torso as he rocks into him, his breath catching in his throat as Harry reaches out to grip the sheets, his back arching up off the bed with a broken moan. 

His face scrunches up in discomfort as Louis’ pace quickens, but then melts away into a sort of two sided ecstasy. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he whimpers out, so innocent and exposed rather than the hard and rough fucks. 

Louis leans down, continually rocking into him, pressing more kisses against the boy’s open mouth. “I love you, Harry.” He says again, louder this time. 

He grips the boy’s thighs as the pool of heat grows and he presses his forehead against his, rolling his hips upward until Harry’s moans turn into the absence of breath and squeaking whimpers. 

They finish in unison, Louis with two powerful, upward thrusts and a shuddering groan, and Harry with his back arching, toes curling and a quiet sob. 

Louis collapses on top of the boy again, kissing him over and over, until the world was blurred mass of tears and Harry is sobbing again, his hands trembling as the grip onto the back of Louis’ neck. 

Louis chants over and over, again and again, until he’s sure the words sound like they were meant to be said at this moment, to this person.

“I love you, Harry, I love you so much.”


	12. Part Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh my god

He rouses to the sound of birds chirping outside, and he wonders if that’s a good omen. He concludes that, yes, it should be, and so with that, he opens his eyes. 

Like always, Harry is still asleep, his face pressed against the pillow to the point his cheek his scrunched up into his nose, his lips fallen open with little breaths, his eyes peacefully closed. Louis likes to think that he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, with his eyelashes falling across his milky cheeks and pink lips and messy curls a shade of flaming gold in the light from the window. 

A quiet sob gets stuck in Louis’ throat, because he so badly wants to stay here and study every beautiful ounce of the boy while he is so peaceful, yet he has to work.

But he stays a little longer anyways, and lifts a hand tentatively to caress the boy’s cheek, run his fingers gently through his tousled curls. Harry shifts in his sleep, only slightly, and with a sleepy groan. 

Louis smiles through the silent tears rolling sideways across his cheeks and pooling on his nose. He doesn’t know why he’s crying, he just knows he should.

“I love you, Harry,” he whispers so quietly, it’s almost as though he’s telling a secret.

But he realizes, it is, really. He wants to tell the world how much he loves this boy, but he can’t. He really really can’t. 

Leaving the comfort of Harry’s body pressed against his and the silk sheets was even harder than Louis expected. When standing in the bathroom, the cold air comes and swims around his bare skin, raising chills and chattering teeth. 

He takes a shower, one so hot it feels as though it could melt his skin off; and that’s what he wants. It feels as though the heat could remove any foul feeling he’s having. 

It works for a while. 

He makes breakfast, because Harry still hasn’t awoken, and he doesn’t have the heart to wake him from such peace. 

As he spears the eggs he attempted, he can’t help but notice how they’re nothing in comparison to Harry’s cooking. He can’t even finish them, and finds himself with just a cup of tea.

It’s when Louis steps from his room, finishing the final button on his collar, that Harry has risen, and is glassily staring out the window next to the piano. 

Louis goes to say good morning but is quietly interrupted by the boy, “Play for me.”

He doesn’t argue that he has 30 minutes until work, just pauses before sitting at the piano and placing his fingers on the keys. 

He inhales deeply, trying to shake off the eerie feeling of how quiet Harry was, before pressing down on the keys in a mantra of songs. 

When he feels a sense of ease slowly fall on the room, he removes his hands from the keys and glances up at the boy, still staring out the window. 

“Harry,” he says softly, reaching up to place a hand on his; in his, surprisingly, the boy holds onto it. He laces his fingers with his and squeezes, glancing down at him with a weak smile. His eyes are watering, and he leans down to press a kiss to Louis’ lips. 

It’s so caring and slow, coming from him, that Louis can’t help but cry again. He pulls away, his heart swelling to something of the most loving size. 

“I love you,” he whispers against the boy’s mouth, and he can feel him smile.

“I love you too, Louis.” Harry replies, fluid, and presses another kiss to the man’s nose, “I’m going to miss you.” 

Louis grins, reaching up to pinch Harry’s cheek, “I’ll miss you too, Haz.” He stands, hesitantly walking to the door, glancing back with his hand on the knob, “Stay out of trouble, curly.” 

Harry meekly nods, a solemn smile on his lips, looking down. 

Louis omits the thought of Harry killing, and turns to move out the door, pausing again, something drawing him back. 

Surprisingly, when he glances over his shoulder again, Harry is staring at him with wide eyes, “Louis, I love you. I love you, forever, alright?” His voice wavers with emotion.

Louis can’t help but grin so big his cheeks ache, “I love you, forever too. I’ll see you tonight.” 

And with that he’s out the door. 

—-

At Violet Quarters, Louis tries to stay focused with his first 2 patients that are both easy enough, on the road to recovery. 

On his break, he reclines in his chair, pulling out his phone on an impulsive thought. His old friend, Zayn Malik had been a private investigator for 11 years; the only thing he had ever wanted to do with his life.

Louis typed him a text.

Hey mate, I need you to check someone out for me.. 

—-

 

Louis excuses himself from work early, postponing his afternoon appointments. He’d been doing that a lot lately, but he has enough years and experience under his belt at Violet Quarters that they don’t bat an eye when he says he has a dentist’s appointment.

He meets Zayn at a small pub, one by Louis’ old university. He’s glad they met here, he needs a beer more than he realizes. 

Seeing Zayn brings back a lot of memories that are pleasant, filled with teenage parties and figuring out his sexuality. Seeing Zayn is pleasant. 

He waves meekly at the man who greets him with a bear hug, which he sinks into and is extremely grateful for. He hadn’t seen any of his friends since he took in Harry. 

Zayn’s curiosity doesn’t get the best of him until halfway through their lunch together. He places his fist under his chin and raises his brows with a precarious look of utter confusion. 

Louis looks at him as though he has no clue why he should be receiving such a look, and cocks his head. “Yes, Zayn?”

“You’re acting different,” he sighs, “Why did you ask me to check up on this… Miranda girl?” 

Louis lowers his eyes to the basket of crisps, and reaches forth to grab a few to lengthen the time he has to actually answer him. 

“It’s a really long story, mate,” he pauses with a sigh.

“I’ve got time.” Zayn counters fluidly, folding his hands neatly on top of the table.

Louis shifts uncomfortably, a pang of longing stretching in him as he thinks of Harry and his peaceful face as he sleeps, “I don’t— I just,” his voice breaks, nervously running a hand through his hair, “Do you remember Harry Styles? The teenager from a few years back that was accused of raping and murdering those seven people?” His voice is hushed as he warily glances around at the people at surrounding tables. No one seems to be listening. 

A brow piques with interest, “Yeah, wasn’t he at Violet Quarters?” Zayn says between sips of his beer. If the man had any malice towards the boy, he was extremely good at hiding it. 

Louis stiffens slightly, trying to figure out how to word such an incredibly long story into just a few sentences. With a deep breath, he nods. 

“He was transferred to Kedron not.. long afterwards, though. He was released on medical probation… and uh— I took him in—” he stops himself because he feels like Zayn might explode, but the man holds his composure, just stops sipping his beer, so Louis continues in a slur of hushed words—” I know that sounds insane, but he’s really different, I don’t know how to describe it because out of all of my years of being a psychologist, he’s so far into his schizophrenia I can’t tell what is real—”

“—You’re in love with him aren’t you?” Zayn interrupts suddenly, and Louis feels the flush of heat burst into his cheeks.

“Yes— yes, but,” he scrambles, “I don’t know how to explain it Zayn— he lead me to ten corpses saying he killed them but the more I think on it…” he shakes his head over and over, “I-I saw them with my own eyes, and one of those bodies could not have been dead longer than a year.. and Harry has been under heavy security for the past 2 years.”

Zayn’s face contorts into several emotions before settling back on neutrality, “So you don’t think he actually killed those people? Who else could have, there was no other DNA found besides his.”

Louis stares out the window, watching a girl stare up at the sky as a low rumble of thunder echoes above. She frowns, and for some reason, Louis feels pity for her. 

When coming to, Louis shakes his head, “That’s why I asked you to do some background check on Miranda- or Doctor Sutherland.” 

Zayn nods, but still has a confused look on his face, “Why her?”

“In a memory session, Harry relayed her name and saying she basically abused him when he went to her for therapy but he couldn’t remember more than that.”

And suddenly, he realizes something.

Something so huge his entire body tenses, and it takes all of him to not scream. He shrouds it, takes a deep breath.

Zayn pauses, but again nods, before turning to a messenger bag he had toted along, hauling it into his lap and pulling out a manila folder. 

Louis wonders if they should really be doing this in public, but he’s too close to something huge to delay it any longer. 

Zayn pauses, glancing at the man leaning over the table in anticipation, “What do you want to know?”

He thinks for a moment, his thoughts racing a mile a minute, “Actually,” he says on an impulse, “I just need her address.”

Zayn makes a face, before slowly nodding and pulling a piece of paper from the folder, handing it to the man, who stares at it for a second. 

It lists not only her present residence, but all of her previous ones up to the year 1998. Louis looked up incredulously at the man, who just grinned subtly. 

“Thank you, Zayn,” he says, so genuinely it breaks with a desperate emotion of gratitude, “So much, I’ll make it up to you soon, alright? But I’ve got to go figure this all out before I lose it.” 

Zayn, being Zayn, doesn’t argue, just calmly nods. Louis spastically slaps two 20 pound notes on the table before leaping from his seat, pulling on his coat and checking his watch. 1:13 pm. 

He quickly engulfs Zayn in a firm hug, again thanking him, before making his way to the door, where somewhere distantly he hears the man call after him.

“Be careful.”

—-

It takes 30 minutes to drive to Miranda’s house, and when he arrives at the expensive home, the rain is pouring and the clouds have darkened to such a deep shade of grey that it appears almost like a misty night. 

Louis hesitates instantly to exit his car, and again considers to just go home to Harry.

But with one long glance downward at the sheet of paper on his passenger seat confirming the address, he pushed out of his car into the pouring rain and ran up to the front porch. The rain cut straight through his clothes, chilling him to the bone and rattling his teeth.

He presses the doorbell before he can give it a second thought, and then stands and waits.

He waits longer than he had expected, and the front door is unbolted before swinging open to reveal Miranda in a stiff looking suit. Her pale face contorts from shock to smug. 

Louis is at least pleased that she’s home.

“Doctor Tomlinson, what a… surprise.” She says airily, a tight grin on her lips, “What brings you to my.. abode? News on my new spot at Violet Quarters?” She laughs, a high pitched shrill noise of arrogance.

Louis doesn’t feign being straight forward or cold, “More questions about Harry.”

Her brows knit together momentarily, “But I’ve already told you everything I can.”

Louis smiles tartly, an ironic gesture of pure distaste, “Well then tell me again, because there are parts I’ve forgotten.”

A muscle tenses in her jaw, and she raises a brow, stepping back from the door to make room for him to enter, “Well then please, enter.” She grins, an ironic blast of thunder rockets ahead and Louis flinches as he steps into the foyer. 

It smells pungently of the overbearing peach-citrus perfume he remembers from weeks ago. He doesn’t feign from wrinkling his nose as he pauses before being led down the hall and into a massive living room with black out drapes and a couch to sit 12 people. 

“Wine?” She inquires with a slick smile, making her way to a wine fridge at the corner of the room. Louis takes a seat at the end of the dark brown couch, sighing. He doesn’t know if he necessarily trusts this woman, but he idly nods anyway, and she proceeds to pour two plentiful glasses with a deep red wine. 

She hands one gracefully to Louis before sitting opposite of him on the coffee table- a much more intimate position of seating than he wants. She sips at the pungent wine, wolfishly grinning. 

“What would you like to know, Louis?” Her voice is low, on a seductive level that the man has obviously grown immune to. 

Louis is silent for a few moments, glancing down at his glass, around the room, which is momentarily filled with light paired with a blast of thunder. So much for the fair weather. 

“So you’ve never smoked? Ever?” Louis starts, his eyes trailing back to the woman, who’s expression is now one of confusion. 

“I thought you were here about Harry,” she laughs around her glass, sniffing, “But, yes, not a single drag.” 

Louis hums, tapping his fingers on his thigh and wrinkling his nose, “Because that’s not what Harry told me,” he pauses, taking a sip of his wine and studying Miranda’s expression, a tendon in her neck tensing, “He told me that you chained him up and smoked while you had your ‘therapy sessions’ with him.” His voice, although even, has such a disgusted edge that it is almost frightening to himself.

Miranda averts her eyes with another smile, but it’s just something to cover up everything boiling beneath. She blows out a breath, shaking her head with a brute laugh, “And you believe him?” Her voice caws incredulously, as if that is the most unbelievable thing she’s ever heard.

Louis stares at her blankly, “Yes, I do actually.”

Her laughter sizzles out to an empty smile, her eyes glinting something far more dangerous than what would be presumed.

Louis tenses as he realizes he’s hit something big. 

She looks completely different now, ghoulish shadows cast under her eyes, her teeth unnaturally white and her eyes like dark pits. Her hair is pale and Louis feels like he’s staring at a corpse.

But then she’s limber, shaking her shoulders with a tremulous laugh that pierces straight to his soul, raising chills. Her eyes crinkle up, and she continues to laugh until she has to set her drink down on the table. She sniffs with an ending sigh, as though a period after a long, humorous sentence. 

She leans forward, so close to Louis’ face, her scent is over-whelming and it takes all of him to not lean away. He stares her squarely in the face. 

“It’s not use hiding it now, I guess.” Another peel of laughter and she leans back again. “They can’t repeal a sentence, not even if you have all the evidence in the world that Harry didn’t kill those people, they can’t roll back time and they can’t put me in prison.”

Louis holds his breath until he thinks his lungs are about to shrivel up in his chest. He says nothing. 

She wrinkles her nose with another wry grin, as though this excites her, “In fact, I’ll tell you everything.”

Louis quietly gasps for breath, not able to keep his mouth shut any longer, “I know that when used on patients, Thiopental Sodium is extremely effective, and they are very highly susceptible to being manipulated- convinced to believe something that never truly happened.” His voice wavers, tears pressing hot behind his eyes, disgust threatening to empty his stomach, “You administered it to Harry, and filled his head with lies.” His voice comes out in a wet venom, eyes watering. 

Miranda tutts as though she’s proud, “Very good, Louis. Right you are.” She recrosses her legs. 

Louis’ mouth flounders open as tears begin to roll down his cheeks, a rage is quelling deep within him and it takes all of him to not lunge at the woman and steal her life just as she stole Harry’s. “Why?” His voice trembles.

“Oh I didn’t work alone, sweetheart. I’ll tell you exactly why,” she leaned forward again and Louis bit the inside of his cheek until the iron taste of blood flooded in to keep himself back, “his father.” 

She grins, “Joe Milward and I had been in an affair for 3 months when he decided that he no longer wanted to be with Anne,” she sighs, “Harry was 10 when his father murdered his mom. He witnessed it all, unbeknownst to Joe, of course. The boy had watched him through a crack in the door as he… did his finishing of the woman. Joe came out to the boy and realized he had seen everything,” she laughs dryly, and Louis can’t help the horrified sob catching in his throat, “And you see, we couldn’t have that. We couldn’t have Harry telling on us.”

She stands from the table, emptying her glass with one gulp, before returning to the wine fridge and pouring herself more. Louis is frozen to the seat, every muscle is tensed and locked and he feels sick, so sick.

“So Joe brought the boy to me, begging me to help him, to somehow convince him he hadn’t seen anything, and of course I complied.” She rolls her eyes as she slowly saunters her way to the window, peering outside at the rain and wind blown trees. “I administered the drug and began to convince him his father had left, and that his sister never existed. It took several trials, and I often had to restrain him down in the basement because he got to be such a tyrant.

“So, a few months passed, and Harry became extremely distant; as expected. He was hard to even talk to when he was under the effects of the drug, so we stopped for a while, until Gemma moved out. 

“Then Joe went on a bit of a,” she suppressed a giggle, looking over her shoulder as though it would amuse Louis as well, “…rampage a few years later. He was killing and raping all of these people. And then we realized, realized how we could really rid ourselves of the burden of Harry… Send him to prison.

“By now, he had developed severe clinical depression, bipolar disorder, and the starts of schizophrenia- a real mess to deal with. Anyways, Joe took him to all seven of the corpses and made him take off his shirt- for evidence. Then to me, I shot him up with the Thiopental and then convinced him he killed and raped all of those people. I bore it into his fucked up little brain until there was no way he could think otherwise. Then, when the bodies started to be found, I anonymously tipped the police that Harry was their man. DNA on the shirt came in, and Harry was shipped off.” She smiles when she finishes, turning to face Louis and raising her brows as if to say ‘How about that?’ 

Louis’ breath is short, his head light, eyes burning with an endless amount of tears. He’s trembling all over, from a full body rage. It all makes sense now, why Harry was so confused, so… broken. 

And then he realizes something.

The tears instantly stop, and he inhales sharply, his back straightening. He clenches his teeth.

“Miranda, I hate to inform you, but Harry remembered something else,” the words are lingering on his tongue, begging to be said, “You see, he recollected not only your name, but where you and his father made him drag your ten other victims to.”

Her smile vanishes instantly.

“And the police have collected them, they’re all sitting in a morgue, and soon they’ll figure out that Harry didn’t kill them, because your last victim was only last year- when Harry was in a locked down Mental Rehab.” 

He inhales deeply, a smile on his lips, one knowing and mocking, “And then everything you just told me will be recited at the trial, the proof then will be so undeniable; you’ll be in prison for aiding and abetting in not one, not two, but ten counts of homicide and molestation, and Joe will be in prison for ten counts of homicide and molestation.” 

He’s standing before he realizes it, and even across the room he can see her trembling with rage, “And then Harry, well he’ll need years upon years of therapy as he tries to recover from the trauma, but he’ll be with me. He won’t be locked up in a cell for the rest of his life.”

And with that, he’s making for the door, so quickly he can barely feel his legs. 

“Louis,” she shrieks, sounding possessed, “Louis come back here, I’ll— I’ll kill you.” He can hear her heels pounding against the wood floor behind him, but he’s already out the door and in the rain which soaks him to the very bone again.

He’s in his car as she emerges from her house, shoulders bent, skin almost translucent in the lightning flashes. As he peels out of her driveway, he can hear her enraged scream before it’s drowned out by a massive blast of thunder.

He’s trembling so hard, teeth chattering, but he’s filled with adrenaline. He’s not crying, and he’s not screaming with joy for being right. He is at an impasse of emotions, so instead, he fumbles for his mobile. 

He has to call Harry. 

As he recklessly veers out onto a busy street, earning him several enraged honks, which he ignores, he tries the power button, but no avail. He curses himself a thousand times over for not charging it the night before. 

He’s driving so quickly, as though getting to Harry faster will make sure that this is all real. He glances at the time, 4:35. 

Louis nearly hydroplanes countless times in the onslaught of rain, and he can barely feel his toes anymore.

—-

He makes it home at 5:00 on the dot, his heart in his throat as he pulls the keys from the ignition, cutting the engine to silence, the sound of rain drumming on the roof of the car now filling the quiet.

He then inhales deeply, and shoves open the door, hopping out into a puddle. He is making his way down the walk by his flat for the front door when a noise stops him dead in his tracks.

He doesn’t know what it is at first, but all he knows it’s loud and abrupt, and the silence to follow leaves his ears ringing.

And then it hits him.

And he’s running, screaming in horror, nearly breaking down the door. “HARRY!” He screams, his voice ringing out through the flat. His soaking shoes slapping wetly on the floor as he barrels through the living room to the hall.

Harry’s door is closed.

“HARRY!” He wails, the tears instant. He doesn’t notice the note on the door until he tries the knob- it’s locked. 

I can’t live with myself anymore 

 

“HARRY, PLEASE!” He’s bleating out horrified sobs and he slams his shoulder into the door, one, two, three times before it swings open with a crack.

He stumbles in.

And then he’s on his knees, covering his mouth as endless screams and sobs break his lips. He can barely see, his vision is tunneling with the tears. 

The smell of gun smoke stings his nostrils.

And Harry, oh Harry.

Louis just sees blood, splattered up the back wall and on the ceiling. The boy, his boy, is leaned up against the headboard limply, his head lolled forth, eyes peacefully closed. Louis’ small pistol in his hand. 

“H-Harry, no.. no baby.. My baby,” he sobs, crawling his way to the edge of the bed, his whole body trembling.

If only you were a minute earlier, this wouldn’t have happened. 

 

Louis screams, a gut wrenching sob that echoes about the room as he covers his mouth again. He feels as though a gaping hole has opened wide in his chest and has swallowed not only his heart, but his soul. 

He crawls onto the bed, and he’s holding the limp boy in his arms, instantly covered in his blood. “Baby, oh.. Harry.. Harry why? Why Harry why?” He chants messily into his curls, which are matted down with blood. 

He rocks back and forth with him in his arms, retching sobs that are so heart-brokenly painful. He grips onto the boy’s chilling skin, pressing wet kisses onto his forehead.

“Please, please.. no, this can’t be happening,” he wails, his head falling back with a God-Damning wail, he continues to rock back and forth, leaning his head on the boy’s shoulder, “W-What am I going to do without you, you left me— you l-left me, come back to me..” his voice is hoarse and a slur of words, of disbelief, from a man no longer with the will to live. 

His whole body is shaking, wrapped in a cape of a bone deep depression. His nose is running and lips are swollen red, eyes clenched shut with tears.

He subconsciously thinks of just last night, of all the love he poured out to him, that Harry gave right back.

It was his way of saying goodbye, a final parting.

Louis is sobbing so hard, the pressure behind his eyes becomes unbearable. He pulls his head up to look at the boy’s forever peaceful expression. 

The way his eyelashes fall across his cheeks, his pink lips now turning blue, his tousled curls matted down with blood from the back of his skull.

He wants so badly to go back to this morning, with the boy’s sweet, breathy sighs as he slept.

“I could have sa-saved you.. oh honey.. no no no, Harry you were framed. Come back, oh god why.” 

Louis, without thinking grabs the gun from his limp hand, his own gun, that he had never used and had totally forgotten about. He doesn’t even think twice, before resting the barrel in his mouth.

He lets out a terrified wail, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t leave me like this.” 

He pulls the trigger, and it sputters uselessly. 

No bullets left.

He pulls it over and over, it clicks uselessly every time. He sobs harder and harder, throwing the gun across the room and clutching onto Harry’s husk of a body. 

Then the rage sets in, the absolute full blown loathing that makes his trembling even worse, and his sobs even more painful. 

His own father did this to him. 

“I’m going to make them pay, Harry, I’m going to make sure they pay for what they did to you and what they’ve done to y-you.” 

His sobs are simmering out to just painful wheezing and rocking back and forth. He litters the boy’s now cold face with kisses, but this time, they aren’t returned.


	13. Part Thirteen

The sun was sinking behind the roofs, the air a pleasant mixture of morning rain and an early spring wind. The balcony outside hanging over the lower street which was now coming to life with night goers. A low mingling of words floating up from below, the occasional distant beep of a car. 

Louis is leaned back in a seat with a placid grin on his face, eyes little crinkles of affection as he sips the pungent wine palmed in his hand. A subtle wrinkle of the nose and a shift in the hard metal seat, propping his feet up on the table. The sun is slicing through low grey clouds hued shades of tangerine and rose, illuminating long lines of color across the air. Louis thinks it might be the most beautiful sunset he’s seen in a while. 

He finds his gaze wandering though, slowly, from the railing to the chair diagonal of him.

In it, a boy sits, his boy. He takes a breath, finding himself studying his pretty little nose, and the subtle indent of one dimple in his cheek, his curls windswept in an agonizingly artist way painted with the hues of the sunset. 

Louis doesn’t say anything because he’s reveling in this quiet moment, but the boy looks over, his eyes slightly crinkled at the sides, so green they’re like two grassy pits, inviting and tantalizing. And Louis feels them bore straight into his soul, and so quickly as their eyes have met, it’s engulfed in an oily black smoke. His boy’s face is peeled away in flaking ashes of memory and the sun implodes in a black abyss of dread.

-

He jerks awake, a floundering feeling of absolute dread swallowing him whole as he realizes it was a dream. A sweat is clinging to the back of his shirt making him feel clammy and claustrophobic. He has no idea where he is at first, all he knows is that his neck feels stiff and lower back is aching.

The sleep drifts away from his eyes, and he’s greeted with white. He reaches out, pressing his hands against something cold and hard, and then he realizes he’s in the tub. 

The night before is black and distant and he doesn’t exactly know why he feels so sick until he looks down at himself. His clothes were stained in a crimson that he never wanted to see again.

Last night came back with frightening fervor, and he stiffened. 

His boy, his baby.

Gone.

A stiff, shuddering cry that emanated from the very pit of his heart crawled dryly up his throat.

The blue and red lights that flashed blindingly, forever burning his retinas as they took his boy away in an ambulance. He knew it was unneeded, that he was far from this world now.

The sanitary room, the doctors informing him of things he already knew. He didn’t want to hear it, he just wanted to stay with his boy, wanted to hold his hand even if it didn’t tentatively grasp back. 

He didn’t remember much after that, somehow making it home, not wanting the comfort of a bed, he wanted cold and unwelcoming, something to deter him of comfort. 

Now his whole body began to ache, and a shaky hand rose to his mouth as it crumpled into a ragged sob. It echoed painfully about the tile, floating out about the silent flat. 

He just wants to sleep, he wanted to feel his boy’s presence wrap around him, convince him, even if only for a few minutes, that his existence is still here. 

He fumbles out of the tub, animalistically ripping his shirt over his head and pants down his legs. He deposits them in the tub before stumbling to the shower, not daring to look at himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t feign from turning the faucet all the way to the left, the water hissing with an angry steam. He doesn’t even feel it as he desperately scrubs his entire body, watching the red pool at his feet before disappearing down the drain.

He tries not to think of his room, the door closed, holding back the smell of iron and gunsmoke, but just seeing the door is enough to cripple Louis again. He can’t stay here with the constant thought of him. With the faint smell of him, the haunting laughs Louis swears he hears faintly off in some corner.

He stands in the center of the living room, one glance at the piano has him screaming with a pain that splits him wide open. His vision is blurred so thoroughly he can barely make out where he’s going. He reaches for the floor lamp blindly, ripping the plug from the socket and swinging the metal base down into the keys so hard the entire piano screams. It’s the most painful noise Louis has ever heard.

Play for me. 

Those words bore into his brain until he’s screaming and swinging the lamp down onto the keys with all of his force. One of the ivory keys splinters off, and from there, the entire face is smashed in a cacophony of angry shrill notes. 

“You left me!” Louis yells, his voice strained with sobs as he again slams the lamp down, the glossy black wood shattering, the strings and hammers snapping with brassy twangs. “You’re gone- oh god you’re gone.” 

His arms become heavy with dread and he doesn’t have the strength to swing anymore. 

He stumbles back, his entire body throbbing as he stares at the carnage of his beloved Steinway. 

He wants this so badly to be a dream, that at any moment he’ll jerk awake and find himself curled into his boy’s chest, feel his breath on the back of his neck. 

He crumples to the floor, his entirety trembling with no will to live. He leans his head against a snapped peace of wood from the piano, covering his mouth with a shaking hand to hold back the tremulous sobs. 

“Harry, Harry..”

—-

He doesn’t eat, doesn’t even drink although it feels his mouth is a crumbling desert. An unquenchable thirst sitting deep in his throat, and in a way, he doesn’t drink as a form of punishment to himself. 

How dare you let him do that? You were his psychologist- his love- you’re supposed to help him from things like this. 

And for hours on end he dithers in this self-loathing because he knows that it’s right, yet so wrong. 

-

He is sitting on the couch, listening to the screaming silence which is broken by his ragged breaths and sobs, when he remembers he has to do something. 

The feeling of dread is ever present, sitting like a lead ball in the pit of his stomach as he reaches weakly for his phone, dialing out the number he had only called once before. 

He takes a shaky breath as the dial tone is interrupted by a cheery hello. 

“Gemma..”

-

As soon as he opens his door to escape the constant reminder of his boy, he is faced with one of his neighbors He stalls, his disheveled entirety enough to cause the older woman’s already concerned expression to deepen in her wrinkles. 

“Louis?” Her voice is quiet, and the man tenses, holds everything in, “I was coming by about last night… all of the sirens and I heard a gunshot, was worried about you,” she sighs.

Louis’ throat clenches, and bottom lip quivers. He nods quickly, afraid to open his mouth. “You have a young man living with you, yes?” She pauses, and studies his expression which is stiff, she can only assume yes, “I saw him out on your balcony around 4 yesterday while I was watering my plants, he was dumping something out of a box onto the street below. He was crying, and of course I was curious so I went down a while later to see what exactly it had been he had dropped…” her voice lowers sadly. Louis’ entire body is throbbing, he doesn’t want to be near anyone right now. 

“They were bullets, Louis. I d-don’t.. I’m not sure why.. I hope everything is alright. I just thought you’d like to know.”

Louis’ husk of a body withstands him long enough to nod curtly to her, before he finds himself crumpling to the floor of his foyer with a realization that slaps him so hard in the face that he screams and claws at his face as his heart shatters over and over in his chest. 

His boy, his baby, had dumped the rest of the bullets because he knew Louis would try to follow after him.

He didn’t want Louis to hurt himself after he was gone.

—-

As soon as the door to Zayn’s flat opens, Louis falls into him, grips onto his shirt as he sobs brokenly into his chest. 

“He’s gone, Zayn. I was right, but he didn’t—” his voice is swallowed by a sob and Zayn wraps his arms securely around him and pulls him into the foyer.

Somewhere in the back of Louis’ abyss of a mind, he is thankful for Zayn. He was the type of person who just silently comforted a broken heart, no need for words, just empathetic waves. 

Louis had already lost several pounds due to the emptying of his stomach every hour because of the sickening reminder, the absence of food and drink. 

Zayn offers him soup, water; anything, but Louis denies, has no appetite. Zayn knows to not push him, not now. Not when his skin is paper thin and already shredded. 

-

That night, as Louis enters his friend’s bathroom to go and sear himself with another skin melting shower, he removes his sterile smelling clothes and turns the tap on hot.

He tries to avoid his reflection, but one long glance sends him staring at the face of a stranger.

His skin seems ashy, dull, eyes are dark and sunken with heavy bags under them. He is unrecognizable, and it startles him more than he thought it ever would. 

One day without him and he is only a hollow casing.

As the steam begins to swallow the image, he can’t help but wonder how long it will be before there isn’t even a stranger to stare at.


	14. Part 14

It’s early morning, and Louis is standing under the hot blast of water, eyes pinched shut with his face in the spray, when a cold blast of damp air wraps around him as the shower door is opened. He doesn’t turn to look, just smiles as he feels long arms wrap around him as the door clicks shut and the heat swallows them both now. His lips stretch up even more when he feels his boy’s mouth trailing along his shoulders from behind. 

Louis leans back into his warmth, his body that engulfs him like a blanket as his large hands kneed into his body. 

He loves him, he really does. 

He feels those lips trace up his neck and behind his ear, whispering something he can’t quite understand— it’s drowned out by the blast of water. 

He turns to press a kiss to his boy’s mouth, but as he opens his eyes, he’s greeted with a black tile wall with long streaks of condensation along it. His body shudders coldly as the jets of water become unbearably hot, beginning to sear at his skin as he lets out terrified screams of horror, ringing out into emptiness as steam begins to engulf him.

Louis jerks awake, sweating so profusely he finds he’s drenched the shirt he’d slept in. His heart is jumping in his throat, and he wants nothing more than to feel his boy wrapped around him again. So he buries his face into the pillow opposite and let’s out a wretched scream until it feels his soul has crawled out through his mouth.

 

-

Louis has become the epitome of nothing. He finds himself holed up in Zayn’s guest room for most hours of the day, staring out the window overlooking a river. 

He thinks of how it would feel to throw himself into it’s depths, to never emerge again. 

He even ponders on an hour to do so, but when he hears Zayn calling for him down the hall, he decides that it wouldn’t be the right way. 

It is three days after his boy was lost, that Louis finds himself hunched over the kitchen table, tentatively sipping at tea with Zayn staring at him with a solemn expression across from him. 

Louis looks up at him with heavy eyes as his friend strikes a match and lights a cigarette. And if Louis weren’t so deep into this hole, he would’ve chastised him for smoking inside. 

Zayn is expectant, but not in the impatient way— he’s one of the few people who can sit for as long as you make him without pestering you about when he can stand. 

So Louis revels in this silence among he and another, stares into the pit of his mug, at the dark liquid within. 

“What happened, Louis…” he says quietly, not in the form of a question, more of a suggestion. He knows better than to push on a gaping wound. 

The man glances up again from his mug, drumming his fingers on the rim of it before letting out a ragged sigh, not able to muster down the ever-present ache in his throat and the way his bottom lip quivers. He shakes his head and diverts his eyes quickly, “Oh..—” 

He tells Zayn how Miranda and Harry’s father had done in slow, trembling words that threaten to spill out from his mouth in a slur of sobs. He composes himself long enough to finish with hearing the gun shot before he’s crippled by heart-wrenching sobs that emanate deep within him. 

Zayn ashes his cigarette before rounding the table and wrapping the man in his arms and lifting him with surprising ease. Louis’ entirety was dwindling day by day, pounds being shed like water. 

He carries him to the couch where he holds him for well over an hour as he sobs incoherent words into his chest, cringing and yelling. When his cries suddenly stutter out to empty heaves for breath, before quietly settling down to just the pain of tears in his throat, he glances up at Zayn. 

“Don’t worry,” Zayn whispers stiffly, his eyes trained on the wall, “they’ll go to prison, and they’ll never see the light of day ever again.” 

—

It feels wrong, Louis thinks, to be pulling on one of Zayn’s suits that is just slightly too big for him. He doesn’t want to be seen by anyone, and when he looks in the mirror, he regrets even being seen by himself.

His eyes are even emptier than he even imagined, sunken into his skull and heavy bags under his eyes. Everything about him looks sick, and that just makes him unable to cope. 

He tries to ignore his face, and sends a long glance at the black attire hanging loosely on his thinning frame. The back of his neck aches, and he feels his eyes burn and throat ache again. 

And then a loud, brute and cheerful laugh echoes around the room.

His body whips around so quickly he has to grip onto the bed frame to assure himself from not tipping over. But instead of a lanky boy stretched out naked in the bed with his head tipped back with a beautiful laugh and curls tossed, there only lays empty sheets. 

Louis presses his palms to the sides of his head, pinching his eyes shut and letting out a broken sigh, “I miss you so much.” He whispers gingerly. 

The distant noise of the door bell chiming is enough to rip Louis from his dazed guilt, and he saunters weakly to retrieve the door. 

Gemma greets him with only a timid smile, and Louis hadn’t even thought about the resemblance of she and her brother until he was looking dead into those watery green eyes, and he has to cover his mouth and clutch onto the door knob to keep from really unnerving her. 

“I’m—I’m sorry, you just—” his words are swallowed by the ache in his throat and he shakes his head, reaching out to embrace her. She leans into him just as much as he does, and for some reason, this puts him to ease. 

He feels her tense in his arms as she tries to keep from crying, and she buries her nose into the crook of his neck. She says something he can’t quite understand due to her mouth being pressed into his shoulder. 

But she says it again, “Thank you for taking care of him…” she whimpers out, and he can’t help but bite his tongue, because how could she say that? When he slipped like sand through his fingers and took his own life— it was all Louis’ fault. 

But Gemma can sense these thoughts and she leans back and looks him dead in the eyes, and this time it’s really overwhelming how much she looks like him and Louis wishes he could convince her to stay so he could try and hold onto this subtle feeling like he’s there with him. 

She smiles distantly, before reaching up to wipe away a stray tear on his cheek. “Come on, let’s set him free.” 

—

Louis is, in a way, glad his boy was cremated. Placed in a ceramic pot with pretty carvings on it that’s resting in the crook of his arm as Gemma drives. He’s thankful because he knows that if he had even glanced once at his still face as a casket was closed down and he sank into the ground, he would find himself following. 

The weather is rather fair, surprisingly enough, the sun is trying it’s best to peak out behind heavy clouds. Spring is crawling up through the frozen crags of soil, and things are turning Louis’ favorite shade of green. 

They are silent on the drive to somewhere that he has never really heard of, but he finds himself absently tracing the lines on the pot, before he really realizes he’s holding the ashes of someone he gave his soul to. 

He shudders, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying again. 

“This was his favorite place,” Gemma’s voice breaks the silence, and it’s welcome. Louis glances over at her, studying her profile affectionately as he doesn’t inquire exactly where it is or what that means, so he just looks out the window. 

—

They’re two figures in a massive field, rolling hills of knee high grass which rolls lazily in the wind like a green sea. Some hundred yards away is a lush forest at the base of the slight slope they stand on. Louis likes to think Harry ran around here, young and spry with a happy grin on his face with curls an unkempt mess and cheeky flush. The thought makes his heart leap and throat to clench, but he smiles wetly. 

“We’d come here, just me and Harry. It would take us hours to get here, and we’d just lay—” she looks down, her voice trembling, “— he was such a happy kid. I really loved him.” Her voice trails off, but Louis can tell where it would go if it hadn’t, how she wonders what had happened to that. 

He wants to tell her so badly, wants to let her know what a horrifying past that she was missing from her brother. 

Not now, he thinks. 

So instead, he reaches up to wrap and arm around her shoulders and let her lean into him. He grips onto the little pot, feeling it throb like a faint heartbeat in his palm— and he wonders if he’s being delusional again— but he really thinks he feels it.

In silence, they remove the lid, and as if on cue, the wind sweeps up behind them. Louis is hesitant, doesn’t know if he can handle dipping his hand into a powdery dust that used to be in the form of his boy. But he glances at Gemma; who’s hair is swept around her face and she reassures him with a wet smile. So he reaches into the small pot tentatively and scoops up a fistful of ash and lifts it above his head, opening his palm as the wind twists around them and sweeps his remains from him. 

Gemma joins, and together they stand and cry silently as they watch him sail away and dance between the grasses. Louis clutches onto her tighter when the pot is emptied, and even though he valiantly wishes he could say he felt the dust of his own cremated heart be pieced together, and his soul come settle into his bones again, but he couldn’t. He still felt empty, but at ease.

So he held onto that ease as long as he could, watching as a loose stray of sunlight come slicing out between the clouds to leech away the shadows upon the field— and that was when Louis felt him. Somewhere distant, and not as much as he would wish— but he felt him.


	15. Part Fifteen

Idly Louis wonders what life would be like if he had never met Harry. Or perhaps if he had under different circumstances, such as a long glance held through the window of a bakery. If he would have the courage to go and talk to him, ask him out for a cup of coffee, kiss him sheepishly before he turns for his apartment. A simple life would have bloomed into late nights on the phone, or tucked into the arms of one another watching some cheesy 70s horror film. A simple life, a simple love, no questions asked.

It’s these thoughts that worm their way up into his mind when he’s weakest— at night, trying to sleep away the ever present pain in his chest. They bore into the very marrow of his bones until he feels as though he’s rotting from the inside out. 

He misses him so much, more than he can take. 

—

Zayn is gone for majority of the day, and Louis still can’t bear to think of going back to work, having to listen to people drone on about their horrible lives when his life is a pit of its own. 

He invites Gemma over to keep him company, and he finds himself digging helpless hooks into her, constantly asking her to just hold him. Somewhere in his heart, his conscience laughs at him, yet the feeling of her, the only thing he has left of his boy, is enough to suffice from fully capsizing. 

Louis wakes up to a soft voice cooing to him, his eyes blink open, wide and bleary with dreaming tears. His mouth is dry and he clears his throat as he sits up to Gemma gazing at him holding a cup of tea. A solemn smile is creased into her features, and in the dim lighting flooding in from the hall she looks so much like him. He stiffens, diverting his eyes to keep from breaking again. 

“Hey,” she sighs, patting his thigh, “dinner’s ready—”

A brute knock comes at the front door of Zayn’s flat, and Louis jumps, craning his neck to glance at the door as though he expects it to fly open. Gemma sighs, brow furrowed before shuffling to unlock the bolt and swing the door open. 

Louis shrinks back at the sight of an officer, who’s expression is anything but welcoming. “Is Louis Tomlinson here?” He questions as he shows her his badge, “LPD, we’d like to bring him in for some questioning.” 

She looks over her shoulder, she’s stiff, but she sighs and moves away from the door. The officer slowly enters, his eyes trained on the man shrunken into the couch.

“You’re Louis, correct? I need you to come with me.” His voice is low, his grey eyes stern. 

Louis clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably, not even sure his voice will work with the ever present ache in his throat, “What for?” 

“Questions about… Styles.” 

The tinge of resentment, loathing, in the man’s voice is enough to bring a ragged breath of offense to Louis, “He’s innocent, you know.” 

The man just stares at him, before motioning for the man to follow. And very slowly, he does, giving a slow glance to Gemma, who just nods as reassuringly as she can. 

—

Louis is used to interrogating people, but hates being interrogated himself. He’s sat in a cold room with one of those double-sided windows and a fluorescent light that washes out everything. He hates it, and being alone in this room has him drumming his fingers on the metal table, trying to hold in heavy breaths to keep from sobbing again. 

He feels so numb, an empty shell just shuffling about with a fear growing in the pit of his hollow stomach. 

He’s studying the scratches in the metal of the table when the door swings open and in comes a thin, wiry looking woman with graying hair and a surprisingly subtle kindness in her blue eyes. 

She sits opposite of Louis, folding her hands over a manila folder with a quiet sigh. The silence is so penetrating that it is screaming in the space around them. He does not look up until she speaks, “Officer Yarin tells me you have some sort of… evidence that Harry Styles did not in fact murder and rape those people.”

Louis stiffens, before leaning back in his chair, a hollow look in his eyes as he stares at her, a bloating silence stretching out for an eternity. He opens his mouth, breathing in slowly, “He didn’t,” is all he can muster, his voice cracking. 

She shakes her head, looking down at her hands with a solemn laugh, “So it was just chance that a noted serial killer stumbled upon a mass burial?” She makes a tsking noise, “Not likely, Louis.” 

His skin prickles with heat, and for the first time in a week, he feels something other than absolute morose longing, and it’s hatred. His mouth opens and closes, his mind reeling with everything that Miranda had spouted to him that night. His pulse races so quickly beneath his skin it feels as though he could combust. 

“Miranda Sutherland,” he spits out, his throat closing up with the absolute, “Is the reason he took—” he inhales sharply, eyes burning, “—took his life.” 

The woman across from him sighs again, licking her lips before opening up the manila folder to produce pictures of a moment he never wanted to relive again. One after the other she pushes photos of the victims in the cave. Louis makes a horrified noise, covering his mouth with one hand and shoving the pictures away with the other.

“Don’t show me those.” He shouts, voice thick with tears.

“Stop trying to protect him, Louis. He’s a murderer. I would expect you of all people to understand tha—”

“—Shut up!” He yells, his back rigged and eyes wide and wet with tears that are now flowing over the rims and onto the table. His chin puckers and bottom lip trembles before he looks down, squeezing his eyes shut with a tired sob. 

And so he begins the long, slow explanation of everything. From the beginning, to the first day he ever met Harry, to the last. The woman is quiet the entire time, and when Louis’ words are finally swallowed with tremulous sobs that echo about the small room, she just sits, a neutral expression on her face. 

After a long silence, save the broken cries coming from the man across from her, the woman inhales deeply, leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, “So you’re telling me, Harry Styles’ father and his… accomplice framed him for all 17 murders?” 

Louis only nods, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

The woman sighs yet again, leaning back in her chair, brows raised, “We’ll take a look into this.. Sutherland woman and his father. But you’re going to need the best god damn lawyer in London for this to hold up in court, Louis.” 

Louis’ breath gets caught in his throat again and he massages his temples, trying to stop his head from spinning. He opens his mouth to say something, but finds he can’t speak. His mouth is cottony and he decides it’s better to not. She studies his face for a moment, before nodding curtly, “You’re free to go.” Her voice a bit softer than before. 

He still says nothing, just shakily stands before sauntering to the door, reaching for the handle, only pausing when her voice comes up behind, “And Louis… I’m sorry for your loss,” a soft few words enough to have him hurrying out of the police station before he drops into his car and unleashes a torrent of absolute soul splitting cries. 

—

He decides that he’d rather be alone tonight, even though Zayn was as good of a comforting friend as he’d ever ask for, he just needs quiet. 

But the more he thinks about returning to his flat, empty and quiet, the more he dreads it. But being only a minute away, he decides he can’t avoid his own home forever. 

When he enters and flips on the lights, it is painfully still and quiet, only the hum of the fridge and high-pitched hiss of the lights is all that fills the void. Shadows seem to linger, even when he turns on every light in the living area. They seem deep, oil slicks of whispers that make Louis feel sick as he passes his boy’s door. 

He pauses by it for some reason. He’s no longer crying, just a numbness has replaced the ache. He turns for the door, like some kind of magnetic force is guiding him in. 

And once he’s in, he inhales deeply, wallowing in an even deeper silence and darkness, even with the light on. He idly thanks the crew who had came and relieved him the burden of cleaning the blood from the walls and burning the sheets stained with crimson. 

He looks stiffly around the room, his breath steady but heart racing. He takes a few steps in, slowly, as though he’s afraid the room will shatter if he moves too quickly. 

The stale scent of bleach and gun smoke fills his lungs, and some other heady scent— the smell of his boy. In an odd way it comforts him. An overwhelming desire fills him and he finds himself wandering into the closet, flipping on the light to reveal the few shirts and sweaters. Louis mechanically reaches for the sweater Harry had worn for a week straight, a simple grey thing with a few holes in the hem.

Louis clutches onto it, pulling it over his head, the sleeves covering his hands. He smells him, and he’s thankful he did this, because it pulls a few of the thin threads of longing together. 

The ache in his throat only swells though, and he sinks to the floor, holding his knees to his chest, staring at the floor as he tries to hold himself together, breathing in that smell of his boy.

He is staring at the floor so long, that he notices one of the boards is uneven to the rest. He blinks a few times, before realizing it’s not nailed in. He is hesitant to reach for it, but once he is, his pulse becomes erratic and he has no idea why. 

He digs his fingers under to catch a ledge, and plies it up with the splintering sound of wood breaking. 

This being an older flat, the floor is hovering over the foundation, leaving an empty space beneath. So he peers down into the shallow depth, not sure what to expect. 

But sure enough, there is something, an envelope. 

His breath hitches in his throat, and he stares down at the envelope for so long it becomes just a white mass in a sea of black. 

The silence is so thick, he can hear his heartbeat throbbing in his ears as he reaches for the envelope, picking it up with trembling fingers. 

It’s not sealed, so he flips open the flap, and removes a folded up sheet of paper.

He unfolds it, taking a deep breath and holding it before squinting to read. 

A pent up sob is released as his eyes rake the page, holding a shaking hand over his mouth.

Hi

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, and I’m not sure if I want you to or not. You could call this a goodbye, and I’m hiding it beneath the floor because… well I don’t want you to read it immediately after… what happens. 

Whenever you find this, I want you to remember something. I want to remind you of something. 

Last night, I fell in love with you.

Last night, you gave me everything, and I felt every ounce of my body become eternally yours. 

And this is why I’m ready to leave, Louis. 

The things I have done… are atrocious. But you, Louis, have given me the strength to move on. You have filled the holes in me that I thought were unfillable. 

And as unusual as it may be to shoot myself through the roof of my mouth after truly finding someone who completes me, I hope you one day understand that none of this is your fault. 

I’m taking my life right at the climax, I do not want to grow old with the chance of not having you. I’m ending my life because you have given me an endless supply of love that has successfully granted me the ease to move on, and I believe that shall fuel me for whatever happens after death. 

I believe that death is the beginning of something beautiful, when this door closes, another opens, and there I will open it and find you waiting for me. Waiting for me with open arms, and this time with no weights of a past life that will drive me to unburden you of myself. 

Only light. 

I’ll be waiting for you, my love. However long I have to wait for the next door to open, I will. 

Eternally Yours,

H


	16. Part 16

Louis stirs awake from something painful in the tar black, dry dream he had been submerged into, to an equally black and painful reality. 

What’s the point? 

His subconscious snarkily points at as soon as he realizes he’s asleep on the floor of the closet, clutching Harry’s letter in his clammy fists. He feels dizzy, and there’s a dull pain at the back of his head as though he had hit it on something, but he has no idea where it could be. 

He glances down at the note in his hand, and his body begins it’s routine ache. He doesn’t read it again because he doesn’t think he has the mental capacity to. So instead, he wearily climbs to his feet, and over and over again those three words are chanted in a mantra of thick depressant, as though it’s not even his own thoughts.

What’s the point? What’s the point? 

 

He honestly doesn’t know anymore.

He hears the muffled ringing of his mobile in the other room, and stumbles his way out to retrieve it, answering with a voice he’s not sure is his own. He sounds sick, malnourished even. A bone deep hunger echoes from his stomach into his chest until he starts to think that his body is shutting down. 

"Louis?" Zayn asks, traces of concern in his voice. Louis opens his mouth to reply, the dull pain at the back of his head, now becoming sharp shocks of electricity, steals the words from his mouth and he squeezes his eyes shut with a gasp. 

"—Louis?" Zayn repeats. 

"Yeah— Zayn. I’m here sorry." He croaks out, a distant echo of his voice. 

Zayn inhales shallowly on the other line, “Just worried about you—"

"—Don’t be," he interrupts, an overwhelming emotion of emptiness engulfs him. 

What’s the point? 

“Look Zayn, I love you. I do, you’re the best friend I could ever ask for. I’ve got to go now, alright?—"

"Louis, I—"

"—Please. Don’t worry. Okay," a sob gets stuck in his throat and he leans against the wall nearest him, “I’ve got to go." He presses the end button before there’s more protest. 

He glances down at the note still in his hand, eyes scanning over it before folding it carefully and tucking it into the pocket of his shirt. He moves to his room without thinking, the only thing that now echoes in that blank space are his parting words. 

Eternally yours. 

 

He nearly falls into his bathroom as the sobs come again. He doesn’t realize he’s staring into the mirror of his medicine cabinet until his brain registers that the stranger in the window is doing the exact thing he is. 

The dull pain becomes more present as the pressure from the sobs push against his skull. He doesn’t recognize the graying skin, hollowed eyes and sunken in cheeks. He bites into his knuckles as though that will suffice his broken self before animalistically reaching for the little knob of the medicine cabinet to stare at the several bright orange little bottles that gleamed in the dim light from the window. He doesn’t think twice before reaching for the first one.

—

He’s driving, driving at hectic speeds down winding roads and he knows exactly where he’s going although he can barely see through his tears. There’s fear sitting deep within him, but he’s so anxious that it almost wipes out all other feeling. 

He keeps trying to grasp memories but their muddled and distant and that just makes him sob even harder. His entire body is buzzing, and he obsessively checks his mirrors as though he expects he’s being followed. 

He nearly swerves off the road twice because, paired with his broken cries and now his eyes going out of focus. He feels nauseated, and like his skin is itching uncontrollably. This just makes him press on the gas harder. 

He’s trembling, mouth open with labored breaths that make him even further light headed. After a sharp right turn onto one lane road, he knows he’s here and he lets out some sort of exasperated cry of relief. 

The fear is present though, and it threatens to overthrow him, put he puts the car in park frantically, throwing open the door and nearly falling out into the grass. 

 

Two steps further, his knees buckle from underneath him and he’s clawing at the grass followed by desperate screams and sobs.

"Harry!" He wails, his chest heaving as he crawls and kicks his way up the hill, fighting the effect of the pills for just a bit longer, “Ha-Harry— please, please, Oh god.. wa-wait for me." 

The waist high grasses he had been in just days ago, accompanied by Gemma, sway around him and Louis wants to feel his presence so badly that the effort of hoping drains him until he sputters out and lands flat on his back, heaving breaths over coming him as his entire world spins.

“Baby," he fights to keep his eyes open, gasping for breath, and suddenly a sharp pain is worming it’s way right beneath his ribcage. A sharp pain so present it drowns out his thoughts and he lets out a strangled wail.

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to die. Not in this much pain.

But he wants to see his boy.

He yells, a sob getting stuck in his throat as a familiar, heady scent fills his senses and his eyes snap open, trying to focus on something, his veins suddenly feeling as though they’re running with warmth, and a choked cry leaves his throat, “Har—"—

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Strong hands pulling upward, or outward of this warmth into a numb cloud where time certainly stands still and emotions aren’t present.

Not yet.

His name is being chanted somewhere, frantically. Louis, Louis, Louis.. Louis, “Louis, Louis, Louis." 

Strong hands pull him up and out, like being saved from drowning and he’s breaching the surface and sputtering. 

What he sees overwhelms him to the point of lucidity. Who is that? Where is he?

Harsh tungsten lighting, a thick musk of mold and cigarette smoke, but something else.

Something he knows. 

"Lo-Louis," The voice washes over him like a punch to the face and his entire psyche is questioning itself, “Stay with me, stay with me." 

This is not what he expected Heaven to be like, not in the slightest. 

This is all so real. 

Then something in the olfactory part of his brain connects, hot wires and sparks like two wires being pressed together after a very long time.

Green. 

 

He’s staring into eyes, green eyes, green eyes over flowing with frantic tears, and then reality seems to seep into Louis’ bones again because he’s being shaken like a rag doll and he actually feels it. 

It feels like every dam bursts open in him and he lets out a tortured sob, “You’re— you’re alive— you’re.. no." He wails, his world reeling as he stares at this face he thought he’d lost. Not sunken in and deteriorating in soil, or ashes floating upon the wind, but perfect, milky skin and mussed curls— and so perfectly— real. He can’t help the wails and heaving breaths that enter him, too shocked to do anything but. 

Then he feels the absolute need to touch him, as though that will assure him that this is real, not some mirage to a starved traveler in a scorching desert— but his hands, his hands don’t move and for a terrifying moment his body locks up. 

It is a mirage.

Horrifying moments tick by as he finds himself looking down, at his hands, bound by zip ties to a chair. 

He lets out a petrified cry as he tries to wriggle his wrists out of their suppressants. One snaps suddenly, and he surges forth instantly.

His hand connects with flesh, perfect flesh, his boy’s being. He lets out another sob, a wobbling smile tries to climb onto his lips. He’s so confused, but he doesn’t question it. His boy is here. 

Pain engulfs his entire left side like flame and he gasps in horror, looking down at his waist, which is soaked in blood. His face is being desperately cupped in those giant hands, and he looks up with a thousand shades of disbelief.

"What is going on— where— Where am I?" He sobs, his free hand gripping onto the back of the boy’s neck as though it’s the only thing tying him to the earth.

"Louis, I can’t believe it—" his voice is swallowed by a sob, he squeezes his eyes shut as his chin wobbles with more tears, "— you’ve been missing for 3 weeks." His voice is rushed and the color drains from his cheeks as though he’s being crunched for time.

"Miranda has been holding you captive, and— and I assume she’s been pumping you full of Thiopental Sodium—" his voice gets cut off by Louis’ sudden panicked breathing.

This can’t be happening.

Everything that had happened in the past weeks had all been in his head, Miranda had force fed his imagination with lies just as she had done to Harry.

He’s trembling as his memories swarm around in a giant muddled mass. Something moves behind his boy, “I’ve—I’ve knocked her out, I found her," an enraged breath interrupts his words, his entire body trembling with loathing, “found her shoving a carving knife under your rib cage— you don’t know.. you don’t know how hard.. how long I’ve been looking for you." He sobs suddenly, reaching up to touch Louis’ face with the same expression of disbelief. 

This can’t be happening. 

"You— you shot yourself. I found you dead in your room—" Louis’ hoarse voice, swimming with tears, is interrupted by a different voice. A voice that instantly set a fire of rage in the pit of his stomach. 

"He did, Louis. You’re seeing things again, sweet heart." Her voice struggles out as she climbs to her feet, a messy matting of blood is smeared in contrast against her pale forehead. She runs her tongue over her crimson stained teeth.

Her voice however triggers something else, a hazy feeling that threatens to pull the plug. “Found him crumpled in your bed with a hole in the back of his head." 

He would believe this, if it weren’t for the sudden, strong squeeze he feels on the back of his neck and his eye-line is averted directly into his boy’s very real gaze.

His mouth feels cottony as a shallow breath parts his dried, cracked lips, “Harry.." he croaks out. 

Louis suddenly feels so weak, so small and helpless as he watches her stumble her way across the concrete basement floor.

But Harry is gone, gone from Louis’ side with a hectic noise of clattering stone to metal and a horrified shriek. 

Louis’ brain is so shrouded by the drug and loss of blood he can barely register now what is going on, but in the blurred masses struggling before him he sees his boy shoving the woman against the wall with a bloodied carving knife at her throat. 

He tries so hard to focus, finds the weight of his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. 

"You— you ruined my life, you fucking.. screwed me up, you framed me—" Harry’s face is hovering so close to hers, and she’s recoiling back into the cement walls, kicking frantically but to no avail against the brute strength of him, “and now you’ve really crossed the line.. trying to— trying to murder him— the only person I have on this fucking pit hole of an Earth." He presses the edge of the knife further to her skin and she lets out a petrified whine. 

"Harry," Louis suddenly calls, his voice watery and distant, but there, “Harry, don’t do it. Please, you’ll— you’ll go back to prison. Don’t give her the.. the luxury of dying now. We’ll take her to trial— she’ll pay." He swallows dryly, trying again to focus on his words, watching as Harry trembles animalisticly, twisting the grip of the knife in his hand. 

With a hellish growl, Harry throws her to the ground along with the knife before powering over to Louis, who he quickly hoists up out of the chair with ease. 

A choked peel of laughter echoes from Miranda, who is fumbling to sit upright, wiping her bloodied mouth with the back of her hand, “I knew you wouldn’t do it, weakling. Your father and I should have killed you all of those years ago." 

Louis feels Harry’s entire body go ridged, but he doesn’t stop, just continues to carry him up the stairs, her laughter hauntingly chasing them upward. 

"I love you so much," Louis chokes out, another sob of disbelief causes his entire body to shake as he clutches onto his boy’s shoulders and neck.

His vision tunnels parallel to the loss of feeling in his entire left side. He blearily glances down to see his shirt drenched in crimson, smearing onto Harry’s arms and own shirt, looking long enough before the blinding rays of sunlight unseen for three weeks leeches him fully of consciousness. 

—

 

(everything will be explained clearly next part)


	17. Part Seventeen

Sleep is like a non-committal death. When you fall asleep, you never really know when you’re going to wake up. You lack the sensory details to absolutely know that yes you are sleeping; especially those who sleep with an absence of dreams or the capacity to remember them. And that is why Louis always wanted to die in his sleep, because he’d never know. He’d just pass on into non-existence utterly oblivious because the only thing different between sleep and death is a pulse. 

So as he sleeps, Louis has no capacity to tell if he’s just sleeping now, or has died. His mind relays nothing, no dreams flutter by in snapshots of memory, just an oily black of an idle subconscious. 

He hears something though, and the thin line of sleep and death is even further blurred. A soft, tentative voice speaking to him in languid sentences that are too muddled by some unknown distance of the mind and ear-to-brain translation. So perhaps he is dead, and these muddled words are here to rattle about his empty brain for the rest of his non-existent life. 

If one can hope in sleep or death, Louis is doing so for the opposite. He somehow hopes that the muddled words will suddenly become clear instead of some consistent warble in his chasm and endlessly large black expanse of sleep or death.

Time stretches thinly, and the warble has diminished to just a faint noise of annoyance. But it continues on, ever present, and it suddenly grounds him. 

Beep, beep, beep, beep. 

It continues on, becoming suddenly so loud his own subconscious winces. 

Beep, beep, beep, beep. 

 

The oily black is obstructed by the thinnest line of grey. A horizontal line running from the brink of the black. It widens slightly, becoming more translucent to a white. Widening even more, beginning to suck in the black. The ever present noise suddenly becomes one consistent loud drone.

It drowns out everything else that wasn’t there, the white now stretches across his entire psyche. The drone continues it’s shrill cry, but beyond the thick noise is shouting, and some other noise. A terrible horrible noise of utter desolation, the sound of a heart shattering into a million pieces. It becomes so loud it drowns out the droning noise itself, and now it’s all he hears. It’s like absolute horrid screaming, a desperate sob that could derail the most soundly secured soul. The sound of someone losing their one and only thing that ties them to the world itself. 

The warble of noise is suddenly crystal clear. Louis— someone DO something— please stay— don’t do this to me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me. LOUIS. 

This mantra of words is chanted into his numb mind and shattered sobs break the noise as it becomes warble again, the droning sound returns.

And suddenly Louis is very aware of the fact he is dead, it’s like a slap in the face and the white collapses in on itself in a massive noise and feeling of electricity jolting through his veins. The black floods in like a barrier broken. The droning noise and the warble of terrified and broken sobs echoes about his long gone brain.

So this is it, this is death? Something thinks, or maybe says, he has no way of knowing. 

You’re just going to give up like that? After everything that has happened, you’re just going to leave him? No goodbye, not even going to try to find out what happened, find justice for him? 

He won’t last long without you. 

Fight, you fucking imbecile.

Fight for your life, he fought for yours now you fight for yours.

 

~

It’s like everything that ever was became present in what felt like whatever God there is clapping their massive hands around Louis’ existence and squeezing the death straight from his bones. 

His chest jolts up with that same electric shock that radiates from his head to toes, and his eyes snap open to the sound of that ever present noise. 

Beep, beep, beep. 

He’s staring straight into the faces of two people he’s never seen before, one holding defibrillator paddles, the other nothing but her eyes are scrunched up with a relieved smile. 

"Welcome back, Mr. Tomlinson," she states, but before he can reply, he rolls back into unconsciousness. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

He’s awaken this time not by being shaken in constraints or pumped full of electricity, but by the will of himself and softest of touches. 

Louis opens his eyes, which are sticky with a heavy sleep of an unknown amount of time. The first thing he focuses on is the small painting on the wall directly in front of him of a beach, but then shifts stiffly to a face he’d thought he’d lost. It takes only a moment for him to feel his body tremble and the ache in his throat engulf his senses. He tries a weak smile that causes his eyes to crinkle up and force the tears that hung onto his bottom lids to roll down his cheeks. 

Harry is right there, looking like he had had the life sucked from him until now, his eyes red and puffy from very apparent crying. He was gripping onto Louis’ hand like it anchored him here, and Louis tentatively squeezed it back. 

"Boy, am I glad to see you," Louis croaks out slowly through his wobbling smile. Harry laughs wetly, bowing his head as his chin wrinkles with more tears. He pulls Louis’ hand up to kiss the back of it, his lips wet with tears. 

Louis can’t even begin to try to take his eyes off of his boy, who’s smile looks so much more beautiful to him now, now that he had thought he lost it but here it was, grinning right in front of him, dimple and all. 

They lock eyes, and Harry is just grinning silently through the tears that make his eyes look like two watery orifices.

He loves him so much.

Some time goes by, as they just sit in a comfortable silence, but there are a million and one questions humming about in the air, begging to be answered. So Louis waits until he feels ready, and opens his mouth to take in a deep breath, “What happened?" 

Harry stiffens, shifting uncomfortably as he glances down at their fingers tangled with one another. He inhales deeply, “I—" his voice is swallowed by the overwhelming urge to cry, but he shakes his head and smiles as a tear drips off the end of his nose, “You left for work that morning… and I waited for you— I was so tired, so exhausted and I had this feeling.. I just," he exhales, shifting again, “Then you didn’t come home and for the first night I thought you abandoned me." His voice cracks into a higher octave as he holds back the tears. Louis’ throat closes up, gripping at his hand. 

"A week passed and I didn’t know what to do, I was having anxiety attacks and I— I was too afraid to go out into public because they would arrest me. Two weeks after that someone called the house phone and I answered it because I was so beyond catatonic— I know you told me to never do that but—" 

Louis cuts him off with a sad laugh, tears making his bottom lip tremble, “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry—"

"It was your friend Zayn, and he was calling for you considering your mobile was turned off and he hadn’t heard from you in weeks.. when I— when I told him you’d been missing he knew exactly where you were.." His voice cut off with a sharp intake of breath. 

"She starved you.. you’ve lost 20 pounds, you’re extremely dehydrated and— and I thought I lost you Louis.. you lost so much blood because that bitch drove that knife into you. All of those things made your heart stop.. but you came back. You were gone for a full two minutes."

Harry leaned his head down onto Louis’ stomach, sobbing loudly and gripping at the stiff sheets draped over the man who reached up to place a weak hand in his curls. “I love you, Harry." Louis said suddenly, quietly, voice thick with tears. 

The boy’s head snapped up, his entire face flushed and stained with tears, his mouth opened and closed but he was sobbing too hard to say anything. 

"You saved my life.." he shakes his head incredulously. 

Two years ago, he had been afraid Harry would take his life. 

And before he even realizes it, Harry is kissing him, so softly that it makes Louis’ entire body tingle before shivering as a pent up sob breaks his lips as he weakly reaches up to wrap his hands around the back of the boy’s neck and pull him closer. Their lips slot together and Louis feels it, he feels the strands of his memory try and fuse together. 

Harry pulls back only enough to fit words between them, “I love you," he seals it with a chaste kiss, followed by another, and another, “I love you, Louis. I love you so fucking much and I will do anything and everything for you." 

Louis squeezes his eyes shut as he grips onto Harry even harder, their foreheads leaning against one another as they both raggedly breathe eachother’s relieved breaths. 

Harry motions subtly for him to move a bit in the hospital bed before carefully crawling in next to him, wrapping his long arms around him and pulling him in close, Louis’ nose presses into his chest as he cries softly, feeling his warmth around him, trying to hold onto the fact that yes, yes he’s really here. 

The boy presses kisses to his forehead one after the other until their tears are sufficed and they just lay quietly engulfed in one another’s embrace. 

—

When Louis awakes, his entire body aches, and he has the petulant fear of Harry not being here, but his eyes creak open slowly to see the boy is still here, he’s still wrapped up in his arms and he can feel his warm breath on the top of his head. He smiles weakly, moving to get impossibly closer to him as he looks up at him, studying the way his curls are flattened to the side of his face. His lips slightly parted with a peaceful sleep, eyes twitching with a dream, not a nightmare. 

Louis watches him like this for quite some time, before moving to nestle his head under the boy’s chin again and breathe in his nostalgic scent. 

He closes his eyes, listening to his little snores and the repetitive beep of the heart monitor. 

He lays there, just on the hinges of sleep, were the wisps of reality are just slowly trickling away to give way to dream, and he dares to let his memory wander to the day he faced Miranda. He wants to know where the reality ended and the drug fed lies began. 

He recalls distantly sitting on the woman’s couch sipping at wine she had offered when he spouts everything to her. He remembers running out to his car, on the road— no… that’s not right. 

He goes back over these thoughts like retracing steps until he tries to find the uneven fold of memory.

He tries to steady his breathing as he thinks over it, again and again.

Couch, wine, talking, leave. 

Couch, wine, talking, leave.

Couch, wine—

His entire body tenses as something in the olfactory part of his brain connects and he momentarily remembers something.

The wine.

He had started to feel groggy after he spouted everything to her, seeing the wicked gleam in her eyes as he tried to make his way for the door but collapsed just after standing. She had attacked him as he weakly tried to swing at her—

Louis winces, gripping onto Harry’s shirt tighter as the memory leaves him suddenly and he gasps for breath as he scrambles to remember the rest of it, when it suddenly slaps him in the face with full clarity.

The way she had dragged him to the basement stairwell door, as he screamed bloody murder, kicking weakly at her as she laughed and beat him on the side of the head, yelling at him to shut up, yelling how she was going to make him pay.

How she dragged him by hooking her ghoulish fingers under his arms and dragging him down the stairs as his terrified screams became weaker and weaker, before his head became light and he fell unconscious under whatever drug she had put into his wine.

Louis trembles in Harry’s arm, hard enough to wake the boy from his sleep and raise concern.

"Louis," his voice is slow and tired, and he squeezes the man closer to him, “Louis, are you alright?" He questions with a heavy amount of concern in his voice.

"I’m remembering things.." Louis whispered out, shaking his head defeatedly, “I can’t.. I can’t do it, Harry, I don’t want to remember." His voice breaks with a shaken cry. 

The boy moves down to eyes level with him, cupping his chin with a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, she’s done for, Louis. She can’t hurt you, or me anymore. We called the cops on the way to the hospital, she’s going to be locked up for a very long time."

"—But we still have to go to trial, what if.. what if they convict us and not her— Harry I can’t lose you again—" 

Harry grips his chin a bit harder, averting Louis’ eyes to his, “You’re not going to lose me, okay?" his voice is swallowed with a sudden guilt, and then it hits Louis like a ton of bricks— Harry still didn’t know. 

Louis wrenches upright, “Harry, you were framed. You—"

"I know, I remembered." He smiles solemnly, and Louis is sobbing again, a sudden hope engulfing his entire being as he hugs his knees to his chest, ignoring the dull pain in his abdomen. 

"Careful, you’ll rip your stitches." Harry says quietly, easing the man’s knees back down. 

Another silence follows as Louis tries to gather his thoughts again. He swallows thickly as he realizes Miranda had simply sat in front of him and convinced him that his boy had killed himself, and then let Louis’ imagination run rampant. 

But how did you visualize Gemma so clearly?

 

A cold shiver runs up his spine. Miranda had to have seen her while she was having an affair with their father, and described her to him. 

It was horrifyingly astounding at the woman’s sick determinate state to leech Louis of his life and make him suffer, how thorough she was to keep administering the Thiopental Sodium one dose after the other until his entire reality was altered at her beck and call. 

As he sits in this trance of recalling memories that cause his entire being to lurch, he remembers something chilling. He raked his thoughts until they were thin strands, but in everything he was remembering, he couldn’t recall Miranda ever saying anything about the field; Harry’s field. 

He had just imagined it, the only solace his broken mind could come up with. He had conjured something up to ease all of the pain and suffering Miranda was pouring onto him. After all, in the entire mirage Miranda had painted, the only calming moment was in the field. 

And then he remembers her screaming to him as she lit a cigarette, pressuring him to tell him how he had found her, how she, once being informed of Zayn’s existence and his contribution to her address, used the man’s friend as leverage for making the mirage more believable.

“You’re going to suffer, and then Harry is going to suffer without you. I am going to pull your entire life apart and then let you go stumbling back to your life broken to pieces and you will go mad. You will go insane, and then you’ll be just like that stupid prick of a little schiz your boy is." 

Louis becomes so caught up in his memories he doesn’t realize it when he goes into shock and begins to shake violently.

"Louis, hey, Louis," Harry says quickly, shifting to look at the man’s frozen in terror face. “Louis what’s wrong? Say something." He leans up on his knees, grabbing hold of the man by his shoulders, shaking him as gently as he can.

Louis’ mouth is gaping open with ragged breaths and he’s looking straight through Harry as thought he’s possessed.

His pulse grows erratic and the heart monitor is chirping, Harry grows frantic, his throat closing up as he shakes Louis by his shoulders again and again. “Don’t do this to me again!" He shouts, and suddenly it stops.

Louis’ eyes snap to Harry’s disheveled face and his body’s tremors slow, realization melts onto his face and he breathes in deeply.

"Promise me you won’t ever hurt me again." He says suddenly, out of no where to the point it shocks Harry and he recoils.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and the fear of himself steals the words straight from the boy’s mouth. A lingering pause fills the air and Louis watches him with a gaze that’s almost harsh.

Harry wants to say yes, I promise, but something is stopping him. He wants to keep that promise but the disorders may make him snap.

But then he thinks, and an entire body tremor rocks through him as he realizes he couldn’t ever hurt him again even if he tried.

"I promise." 

~

.

.

.

.

.

.

[not the end]


	18. Part Eighteen

If one was to look at Harry and Louis with an unbiased eye, they would see two bodies inhabited by one soul. They would see two people so infatuated with one another, it would be undeniable to say they were in love. Two people, who quite literally, live for one another. 

Not a fairytale romance, or a childish infatuation mistaken for something more, but raw, and indescribable love. A love that surpasses all other emotion or need. 

A love to mend everything that ever happened.

An understanding so impenetrable that all it takes is one glance to transmit an emotion that only the two will ever understand. 

They live for one another now.

They are one another now.

~

Louis jolts awake with a cold sweat clinging to his skin. He absently licks his lips as he squints his eyes at the dim, grey light flooding in from around the seams of the dark curtains. 

A dream must’ve awoken him, he determines, and decides to leave it at that. He has no desire to seek further explanation. 

It is like he has awoken to a blank mind, a neutral existence, where he seems to have no emotion or instant memory of what has happened. 

That is until he rolls onto his side, and the breath instantly drains from his lungs with a sharp sigh. A loose smile gathers up the corners of his lips and he contently stares at his boy, sleeping soundly.

Louis has found himself watching him sleep a lot lately, finding it’s the only time he gets to see utter peace in the boy. He lavishes the way his entire face is relaxed, loves the way his breathing is so slow and even. Real. 

Memories hang in the back of his mind like loose strands dangling in a subtle wind. He is in no hurry to grasp everything this morning, he just wants to watch this boy he loves so dearly. 

Idly, his subconscious melds into his lucid state and he remembers that today is a very crucial day.

A day that could change everything. 

He tries to ignore the pain that comes to envelope his entire chest, but finds it rather difficult. 

After everything they’ve been through, this is the last hoop.

Louis decides to gather all of the loose strands, and with it, remembers everything. 

It’s been a month since he was released from the hospital. 

Today, May 26th, is the last hearing.

Today, his boy will be found either guilty or not of 10 heinous murders he did not commit.

Today, Miranda Sutherland and Joe Milward will stare directly at his boy with a burning rage and a smirk awaiting a verdict that may favor them.

Louis doesn’t want today anymore, he wants to be suspended in a timeless world where only he and his boy can live undisturbed for however long they please. 

"Harry," his voice whispers out hoarsely as he reaches to brush the boy’s cheek with his thumb, “Harry, we’ve got to get ready." He tries so hard to cover up the tremor in his throat. 

The boy awakes slowly with a deep breath, eyes barely squinting open with a sleepy grin on his lips. He reaches a hand up from under the sheets to cup over Louis’ hand still on his cheek. “Morning," his low voice grinds out with another sigh. He rolls onto his back, dragging the man closer into his side, kissing the top of his head. 

An ache grows in the back of Louis’ throat as he tries to hold down the tears threatening to spill. Harry feels the man in his arms tense, and shrugs him closer, bringing a long finger under his chin to tilt his face up towards his. 

"Louis," he says gently, his sleepy gaze so intense it makes his breath hitch in his throat, “We’re going to be fine."

Louis’ bottom lip trembles and his face crumples as the barricade falls and he lets out a choked cry, trying to hide his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, “But what if I lose you again? I can’t—" he shakes his head as it’s rather firmly lifted to face the boy’s again. 

Harry doesn’t say anything, instead he just presses forward, lips fitting together with ease. It takes a moment for Louis to gather himself and kiss back, by then his boy is pressing numerous desperate kisses to his mouth.

Harry pulls Louis to lay on top of him with ease, hands traveling the bare plains of the man’s back and suspended shoulder blades. Louis cups the boy’s face as he kisses him square on the mouth over and over, messy and desperate, tongues sliding off one another. 

Neither of them break apart for air, or to whisper I love you in close range; they’re too desperate to feel one another. They know how deeply their love goes, no need to say it anymore. 

Louis feels Harry’s hands grip onto his back, blunt nails digging into the supple and bruised skin; not in a lustful manner, but in an attempt to connect even more to the man. 

They become one in the pale wash of morning light, melting into the sheets as their hands travel the pale plains of each other’s bodies, lips crushing together, tongues tasting and breaths being exchanged back and forth through one another’s mouths. 

In one fluid motion, Harry shuffles Louis off of him so that his much larger body is blanketing the man now underneath him; all without breaking their kiss. 

Harry pulls back, panting, his eyes trained on Louis’, which are wide and glossy, “Can I tell you something?" 

Louis’ mouth falls open, inhaling deeply, his heart hammering in his chest as he lets his delicate hands move up the boy’s bare back, up his neck and into his curls. He nods faintly, closing his mouth as he exhales and looks down at Harry’s lips before returning to his eyes. 

"You remember, the night… that I forced myself on you," he feels Louis tense beneath him, “When I was… choking you." His voice falters, dropping an octave as he lets his gaze fall down to the man’s neck, he moves a hand up to brush his thumb along the erratically throbbing jugular. 

Louis says nothing, just stares up at the boy who has grown quiet. For a moment, he’s certain that he has nothing more to say, until his lips part with a deep breath and his gaze rises back up to Louis’.

"I was so angry… and I didn’t know why. Just this, horrible rage and I felt like I had to kill you. Like I thought I had 7 times before— but I watched you. I studied the look in your eyes… and I saw this," he closes his eyes, brows furrowing, “Saw this look of utter horror. And it felt wrong. Like I couldn’t do it, like I never had done it before."

Louis bites the inside of his cheek to keep from falling too far into that memory. Harry opens his eyes, looking for some sort of permission to go on, and when Louis only subtly nodded, his eyes squinting as the ache in his throat became almost overwhelming. 

"After that night, when I arrived at Kedron, I spent those two years trying to figure it all out. But I just.. couldn’t. That’s why I complied with the doctors, told them everything they wanted to hear. I was desperate to be on parole, to see you again," he pauses to run his fingers through Louis’ mussed hair, smiling solemnly, “It was strictly because I knew you were the key to helping me realize everything. I knew you would open up the parts of me I couldn’t understand. But then it became something more.." he shakes his head with a bitter laugh as his eyes are suddenly watering.

"The sick, fucked up sociopath I was started to feel, started to feel things for this man I had so selfishly raped." The boy’s face pinches, eyes screwing shut as warm tears fall from his eyes and onto Louis’ chest. 

"Then— then the more time I spent around you, more memories started to show themselves. But they were all.. lies. Lies." His voice breaks as his head drops down from his suspended shoulder blades. 

"My life has been one lie, and I could go to prison, or back to Kedron for the rest of my life with no chance at parole. All because of a lie," he breathes in heavily, a sob getting stuck in his throat as he looks up at Louis who’s eyes are watering again as he reaches to cup the boy’s cheek in his palm. 

"But it’s because of this lie that I met you. And I simply wouldn’t change that." 

~

"Mr. Tomlinson, is it true, that you were held captive for 3 weeks in a basement?"

The man, who’s vision had gone fuzzy, focuses as he turned his head to his lawyer pacing in front of the stand, “Yes."

"Is the person that held you captive in this room?"

"Yes."

"And who might that person be?" 

Louis lifts his hand, his pulse jumping in his veins as he points to the right of the room, to the woman sitting at a table with a neutral expression. Her dark eyes bore into Louis’ head, her pale skin nearly glowing in the dim light of the court room. “Her.." his voice breaks quietly. 

"Your honor, let the Jury note that Mr. Tomlinson has identified Miranda Sutherland as his captor." 

Louis’ eyes shift nervously from Miranda’s harsh glare to his lawyer again. Idly, he thanks Zayn for referring him to one of the best in England— Liam Payne. 

"Now, Mr. Tomlinson," he sighs, pacing over to the jury, “enlighten us on what exactly Ms. Sutherland did to you in this period of three weeks." 

"She.." he inhales deeply, glancing out in desperate search for some sort of support, finding those green eyes trained on him reassuringly, "..I don’t really remember. I had gone to confront her, I wanted her to know that I was going to take her down for what she did— for what she and Joe did." He swallows thickly, looking down at his hands, “She drugged my wine, tied me up downstairs in her basement and administered a drug known as Thiopental Sodium."

Liam nods as though Louis reaches the point he was expecting, he clucks, “And what exactly is Thiopental Sodium? And what are it’s side effects?"

"It’s a drug administered, most commonly to PTSD sufferers, to help them calm down and try to remember things. But it puts you in an extremely manipulative prone state, meaning it’s very easy to convince someone of things that never happened." Louis says slowly, his eyes focused on the hem of his blazer. 

"Right, so what did she do once you were administered the Thiopental Sodium?" 

Louis shifts in his seat, licking his lips, “She.. convinced me my.. flatmate killed himself. And that I was going to kill myself." 

"So Miranda Sutherland, in a desperate attempt to torture you because of the evidence you had found holding she and Joe Milward guilty to the 10 bodies you discovered, tied you up, beat you, starved you, and stabbed you?" 

Louis nods, feeling her eyes boring into him like knives. 

"Speaking of being stabbed, hospital records show that Mr. Tomlinson here was admitted severely malnourished, dehydrated, and stabbed in the lower abdomen by a knife, not to mention they found deadly amounts of Thiopental Sodium in his blood," Liam walks to the table to retrieve something from his briefcase, a rather large plastic bag and in it is a bloodied carving knife. He holds up the bag, presenting it to the jury with a stony expression, "This knife, was recovered from Miranda Sutherland’s basement by the LPD, covered in— proven by DNA— to be Louis Tomlinson’s blood. This should be enough evidence to send Ms. Sutherland to prison on attempted murder and abduction. No further questions, your honor." 

~

Louis inhales deeply through his nose, swallowing hard as Miranda’s lawyer stands from the table on the other side of the room, straightening his jacket with a sigh before sauntering over to the stand. 

The man is bald and overweight, his beady eyes raking over Louis with a piggish glint, “Mr. Tomlinson, let’s talk about this flatmate of yours." His voice is coy, and it makes the hair stand up on the back of Louis’ neck. 

"Your flatmate is in fact, Harry Styles, correct?" 

Louis nods, glancing over the man’s shoulder to the boy with a stone expression on his face. 

"If I recall correctly, Harry Styles was in this very courtroom two years ago, found guilty for seven rapes and murders on reason of insanity— quite the flatmate, if you ask me." He chortles. Louis fumes. 

"Now, is it true you and Mr. Styles’ have sexual relations with one another?" 

Louis freezes, “Objection, your honor. What does this information have to do with my client and the fact he was abducted?" 

"Over-ruled, get to the point, Mr. Wensley." The judge says defiantly. 

The lawyer nods, “Let me rephrase my question, is it true Harry Styles raped you two years ago in your office at Violet Quarters Mental Institution?" 

Louis freezes, his mind reeling back and forth, his mouth opening and closing as his blood pressure sky rockets. His head feels light and palms clammy. Had it been rape? 

Of course it was, you never said yes.

Oh bullocks, you wanted Harry the moment you saw him. 

You’re under oath, better make up your mind here soon—

 

"—Mr. Tomlinson, answer his question." The judge says firmly, lifting Louis from his daze he hadn’t realized he had even dropped into. 

He inhales deeply, looking at the lawyer leering at him with his brows raised, “No," he says slowly, “No, he did not rape me. It was consensual sex." He diverts his gaze quickly, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. 

Wensley clucks, shaking his head, “So, you had consensual sex with a rapist and murderer, in your office? That explains why you didn’t press charges." 

"He’s not a rapist or a murderer." Louis snaps, his eyes coming back up as his face flushes with anger, “Joe Milward and Miranda Sutherland are, however." 

Wensley whistles through his teeth, “I’d like the jury to see the cold, hard evidence that Harry Styles is in fact a murderer, and that he and Mr. Tomlinson are both very aware," he walks to the table with his briefcase, removing a piece of paper as he places a pair of glasses on his pointed nose. Louis feels his pace quicken and he glances at Harry, who has the same confused, panicked expression as the man on the stand. 

"This is a letter sent to Mr. Tomlinson from Harry Styles while he was residing in Kedron Valley Mental Hospital, which keeps records of all their outgoing mail for obvious reasons. Here, and I quote ‘Two.. long.. years, and no one knows that I’m as guilty as a dog for the things I told you that night- just you Louis. Only you really know the truth.’" 

Wensley looks up from the paper, walking back over to the stand with a ghoulish grin on his face, “Care to explain, Mr. Tomlinson?" He waves the paper like a threat at the man, who sniffs, “Did you bring Harry Styles into your home, not only because you had very obvious sexual interest in him, but because you were going to help him hide the 10 other bodies?" 

"Objection! Wensley is out of hand here, my client is one of the best psychiatrist’s in London. If anything, he was bringing Harry into his home to help him." Liam interrupts, his voice so low it echoes about the court room. Louis’ eyes are split wide, and his pulse racing. 

"Harry was a very high functioning sociopath, when he sent me that letter, he was trying to scare me into taking him in. He hasn’t done anything wrong, Miranda convinced him the same way she did me, with the Thiopental Sodium. Except, he was under her illusion for 7 years, literally altering his entire reality."

Wensley rolls his eyes as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, “Right, so Miranda Sutherland went to all that trouble to hide the fact that she aided Joe Milward in 17 murders? Why didn’t they just flee the country?" 

Louis ignores the question with a realization, narrowing his eyes, “Where is your other client? Did Joe Milward happen to flee the country?" 

The Judge smacks his gavel down to quiet the sudden buzz in the courtroom, “Mr. Tomlinson, you’re not here to ask questions. You’re here to answer them, one more step out of line and you’re out of my courtroom."

Louis smiles tartly, nodding before answering the original question, "Because they needed someone to take the blame after they had all their fun, but they didn’t count on him ever remembering, which is where they went wrong. They made Harry drag those bodies to the cave behind their old house to make him really think he did kill every one of them."

"Do you know how far of a stretch that is, Mr. Tomlinson? Almost to fairy-tale proportions," Wensley shakes his head, “No further questions, your honor."

~

"Ms. Sutherland, are you married?" Liam asks, standing from his seat, looking at his notes, then up at the woman who flinches slightly, her dark eyes narrowing with a coy smile. 

"Yes, actually, just married." She tutts, moving her hand out to blatantly show off the 24kt rock on her finger. 

Liam smiles stiffly, “Interesting," he looks over his notes again, “because there is no marriage contract anywhere to be found." 

The tendons in her neck tighten just subtly, nostrils flaring as she folds her hands back in her lap. 

"In fact, you had a court date to change your last name just.. two months ago," Liam wrinkles his nose, “Is this true, Ms. Smith?" 

Miranda lets out a long breath, pausing before nodding slowly, her eyes shifting to Louis, then Harry. Her gaze enough to make both of their skins crawl. 

"Your plan would have worked, you know. If you had updated your web page." Liam throws another smile her way, and she returns it this time. 

"And what plan would that be, Mr. Payne?" She almost purrs out, a brow piqued in a sensually challenging manor. 

"You were afraid, when you got word that Harry was on parole, living with a very well known psychiatrist. You panicked, and went to change your name just in case Harry happened to have an inkling of an idea what your name was," he pauses, “And he did. But if you had just updated that page, made it seem as though Miranda Smith never existed; Louis would never had reached you, would have never realized that you did in fact brainwash a perfectly innocent boy into thinking he murdered 17 people." 

"16," she corrects, before her eyes nearly bug out of her head, the entire courtroom erupting in whispers. A furious flush climbs up into her cheeks as she scrambles for words. 

Liam beams, “No further questions, your honor," he says defiantly, before turning on his heel and striding back to the table, leaving an entire courtroom in confusion, and a fuming Miranda. 

~

“I do solemnly and sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth." Officer Niall Horan repeats, before shifting in his seat on the stand. His eyes following his partner moving quickly down the aisle, before leaning over the divider to hand Liam a piece of paper, whispering something to him, before stepping back.

The look on the lawyer’s face is almost undetectable, but upon close enough inspection, it is very obviously triumph.

Liam strides across the floor, holding the piece of paper that he looks down at several times before stopping in front of the officer, “Is it true you found Harry Styles’ and Louis Tomlinson at the site where 10 bodies were found?" 

The man nods, “Yes."

"And what were they doing there?" Liam inquires.

"Uhm.. nothing, sir. They were just.. standing there." 

Liam nods, again looking down at the paper, “You were there when the medical examiner was looking over the scene," he turns to the jury, “What did she say, that seemed a bit off to you, Officer Horan?" 

The man visibly swallows, “She.. she uh said that the little girl," he inhales shakily, obviously distressed by just the thought of the crime scene, “the girl had been dead no longer than two years." 

"Right," Liam nods, scanning the faces of the jury, “And why did that seem off to you, Officer Horan?" 

"Because… I had followed Styles’ case very closely, and I remembered… he was admitted into Violet Quarters a little over two years before, and had been under high surveillance ever since." 

"So you’re saying, there is no way Harry Styles’ could have weaseled his way out of a maximum security mental hospital to rape, murder, and place the body of Kendra King into that cave? Because that is what this coroner’s examination is hinting at for me," Liam lifts the paper he’s been holding to the jury’s attention. “It reads, that Kendra King, age 9, was viciously raped and beaten with a blunt object, then died of asphyxiation by the tight hold of a rope to the throat. It also reads, she died little over a year ago.

"Kendra’s murderer was careless enough to not wear a condom during her rape, the semen collected was DNA tested, compared to that of Harry Styles’, who graciously donated his own DNA. Although the DNA did have a 5 point match to Styles’, it must have a 13 point match to be used as evidence. 

"5 points means it is someone related to Harry though, and what do you know? Joe Milward, his biological father, being arrested for assault and battery— three times— along with being a suspect in a rape 13 years ago, donated his sperm to prove he hadn’t raped the victim. Although his DNA proved to help him those 13 years ago, it is about to take him down for 17 murders and rapes now. 

"We compared the semen found in Kendra King, to the semen in our database." Liam pauses, “Thirteen.. point.. match."

The room is deafeningly quiet, and crackles with electricity. “Officer Horan, do you believe Harry Styles’ could have murdered 17 people from the time he was 11— which is what the evidence would hold him accountable for? An 11 year old, brutally murdering and raping women as old as 30?— Hell, I’m astounded he was even accused in the first place."

Niall shifts in his seat, “No, sir. I do not think Harry Styles’ murdered those people."

Liam smiles, “But he could have killed those 16 other people— Joe could have just raped and murdered only Kendra King, right? Wrong. Thanks to the lovely Ms. Smith, who so meticulously corrected me with the slip of my tongue, the fact she had actually brainwashed Harry of the 16 murders he did not commit. By the 17th, Joe was careless, didn’t think anyone would go looking for 10 other bodies, and Miranda couldn’t plant the seed in Harry’s innocent head that he raped and murdered Kendra because he was in Kedron."

Niall nods, a look of bewilderment on his face. Liam grins, his heart thrumming wildly in his chest because this is the case of a lifetime. “Thank you, Officer Horan. No further questions your honor." 

~

Louis’ entire body feels like it’s on fire, trembling viciously as his eyes are boring holes into the side of the Judge’s head. 

Harry could be going to prison for the rest of his life, this could be his last few minutes with his boy. 

Hot tears press at the back of his eyes when he feels a hand come to rest on his thigh and squeeze reassuringly. He glances over to meet those green eyes with a weak smile, a shaky breath entering his lungs. 

They don’t say anything, just gaze at each other with a look that only they understand. And oddly enough, it calms Louis just enough to stop trembling. 

Everyone’s attention suddenly shifts to the right of the room, to the thin woman standing at the head of the jury. 

"On the count of attempted murder and abduction, how do you find Miranda Sutherland?" The judge questions firmly. 

The room buzzes, and it feels like time is warping around Louis, falling in on itself.

"Guilty." 

Louis nearly collapses, but feels his boy’s hand at the small of his back, and it takes all of him to not cry out with relief. 

He hears a cacophony of angered whispers coming from Miranda’s table as a police officer comes to stand beside the woman who’s wicked glare is burning into Louis and Harry across the room. 

"And on 10 counts of 2nd degree murder and rape, how do you find Harry Styles?" 

Harry’s fingers clutch onto the back of Louis’ blazer, before he leans over quickly, in the space of silence to press a whisper to his ear, “No matter what the verdict is, I will always be yours, eternally." 

~


	19. Finale

[listen to Sea Fog by Keane]  
~

In the dim light of a pub somewhere, a man looks up from the bottom of his glass to a seemingly century old television settled in the corner. The image on the screen flickers and the colors fade as static begins to web across, but he keeps watching. The distant, scratchy warble of a woman reporter’s voice sounds almost excited. A breaking news title scrolls along the bottom, and in finer print, something that brings, sitting in a worn bar stool at 11 pm, the man’s brows to raise and a ruddy smile to tug up his lips. He taps the grimy top of the bar to alert the bartender of his order.

"Give me a shot, toast to that Styles’ chap."

~

A group of friends crowd around their coffee table, legs crossed, blankets folded around their shoulders as the television is on for some sort of background static noise as they play a drunken board game. 

One throws her head back with a tremulous laugh, which is interrupted by another voice, one of shock.

"Did you guys see the verdict on that crazy case in London?" The other says suddenly, his eyes glued on the television that he quickly turns the volume up on. 

The room falls silent besides the woman speaking with a look of disbelief on her face. The footage cuts to the marble steps leading up to the front of a royal looking courthouse, and a lean figure being led down them. His eyes lift to the level of the camera, before a simple grin pulls up onto his lips. Another man is striding beside him, with a less than subtle hand on his lower back.

"He’s cute." One says paired with a sinful giggle, which earns her a slap on the shoulder. “What?" She caws, looking at her friend incredulously. 

~

She’s leaned against the cabinets in the tiny kitchen of her flat, waiting for the meat to brown in a pan on the stove. She brings a blue mug to her lips to sip tentatively at her tea, sniffing absently as she glances over at the little kitchen television sitting on the counter next to the fridge. 

Her eyes widen as tears press hot, and she rushes to grab her mobile off the counter, rapidly keying out the number she knows by heart.

The tone chirps on, until a familiar voice answers, “Gemma?" her best friend drawls out tiredly.

"My brother," she lets out a choked laugh, voice thick with tears, she covers her mouth with loose fingers as she lets her head fall forward with a broken cry. 

"Gem, are you okay?" 

She breathes in deeply, looking back up at the television, reading the big red letters over and over until a wobbling smile stretches onto her wet lips. She lets out another sob, before nodding as though her friend can see her, smile doubling in size as she reads those words again until she fully comprehends them. 

Harry Styles Found Not Guilty

~

Pop! 

The champagne cork launches from the olive neck, followed by a stream of fizzing bubbles and a loud laugh.

Liam grins, brows raised in offering as he pours plentiful glasses into five delicate flutes. Zayn reaches for his, unabashedly letting his eyes settle on Liam, who flushes under his intense gaze. 

Louis delicately palms the glass, raising it to the air before glancing over at his boy, who’s lips were pulled shut but turned upward in an idyllic smile now. His green eyes glinting with the slightest hint of an emotion void of despair. Louis doesn’t realize he’s staring until Niall clears his throat.

Harry’s smile only grows, and Louis thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the first time he’s ever seen him genuinely happy. 

Liam raises his glass, to pick up where Louis had so awkwardly left off, “A toast," he suggests. 

Louis still hasn’t stopped looking at Harry, his eyes crinkled up at the sides and head tilted in this look of pure infatuation, “A toast," he finalizes as Harry meets his gaze, “To justice." 

"To justice," everyone but Harry echoes, clinking glasses. 

"…To justice," Harry echoes quietly, nodding slowly before raising the glass to his lips and sipping. 

~

Louis sits opposite to Harry in the large garden tub filled with soothingly warm water and copious amounts of bubbles. He takes a sip of the wine in his palm without taking his eyes off of the boy scooping a handful of bubbles to set on top of his head.

Louis swallows his wine quickly before letting out an affectionate laugh that echoes off the tile walls. “You know," he sighs out, “I’ve never loved someone so much." 

Harry grins so big, the dimple in his left cheek shows. He scoops more bubbles up to place on his chin as some sort of beard. Louis just rolls his eyes before splashing the boy, making him squawk loudly. 

When the water settles, a comfortable silence falls over them as they just gaze at one another. 

It’s sometime before someone speaks again, “Do you think they put my dad in solitary?" Harry suddenly inquires, his voice almost sounding thoughtful as he traces shapes into the bubbles. 

Louis cocks his head, brows furrowing, “I don’t know, but I’m glad they found him." He smiles, “He and Miranda won’t be making any more appearances in our lives," he shakes his head, “No more speak of this past nonsense. Now get over here and kiss me, bubble beard." 

Harry’s neutral expression instantly turns into a lopsided grin and shiny eyes as he closes the distance between them, wet hands coming up to wrap around the back of Louis’ neck and pull him closer. 

He presses a few chaste kisses along his jaw before lingering on his mouth, letting his teeth graze along his bottom lip. He tightens his grip on the back of the man’s neck before leaning back just enough to fit words in, “Louis?"

The man grunts impatiently underneath him, but simply smiles up at him through his lashes, raising his brows, “Yes, Harry?"

"Marry me, will you?" He inquires, as though the question is as simple as breathing. 

Louis’ breath hitches in his throat as an emotion swallows his speech, and he just has to speak through his smile. His heart leaps in his chest as he closes his eyes for a prolonged moment, before nodding slowly. “D’love nothing more." 

His boy again grins so big it looks like his face might split in half, before he closes the space between them with another kiss. 

~

It’s early. The kind of early that makes one feel like the only person awake on the earth. The kind of early that makes everything the loveliest shade of greyish pink.

The kind of early that not even the sun itself really sees, only it’s dim hues that wash out over the horizon line are the only evidence of it’s existence. 

It’s this kind of early that Louis stands upon the edge of the sea on, alone it would seem. He has this.. ever present smile pressed into his lips as he gazes out at the roiling waters, listening to the gulls chatter distantly. 

A thick fog saturates the beach, making the sense of solidarity even more present. He doesn’t know the time, nor does he want to. He’s enjoying the feeling of life, of existence. He doesn’t shy away from the frothy waves that come to lick at his leather shoes. 

After an unknown amount of time, he lets out a long exhale, glancing down at the object sitting heavy in his palms. He tries not to let his mind wander to a dark place as he turns the pistol over, looking straight down the barrel before smiling solemnly. 

He looks up, at the grey sea, then moves his fingers to hold the grip. The shrill cry of a lone gull floating overhead is the sound paired with the loud shout that emanates from Louis as he throws the gun as hard as he can into the crashing waves. 

He watches it disappear into the white mouth of a swell, into which it sinks beyond sight. 

He stands for a few prolonged moments, with that ever present smile and crinkled eyes before he turns his back on the sea to look up the shore to where his car is parked, and more importantly, his boy stands. 

Harry is many yards away, but Louis can distinctly see the smile on his lips. A cool wind turns the lapels of the boy’s trench coat up, and tosses his curls a bit out of place. Louis swears he can see that green from here, from the rocky shore. 

His boy raises his hand over his head as a simple wave down at the man with his shoes now being soaked by the tide. 

Louis’ never been happier to wave back.


End file.
